


The Opposite of Love is Indifference

by ebi_pers



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Ricky Bowen (HSMTMTS), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Multi, Our faves are RAs this time, Ricky Bowen Needs A Hug (HSMTMTS)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 56,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebi_pers/pseuds/ebi_pers
Summary: Ricky Bowen is East Hall's newest RA. This should be the best year of his life: a built-in excuse not to go home for the holidays, a room to himself, and free reign to throw parties without consequences. Unless his new partner has anything to say about it... (A Rini college AU)
Relationships: Ricky Bowen/Nini Salazar-Roberts, Seb Matthew-Smith/Carlos Rodriguez
Comments: 136
Kudos: 87





	1. Orientation

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! The first chapter of my new AU! This one is set on a college campus, featuring some of our favorite main characters as RAs. In case you're unfamiliar, an RA is similar to a prefect. They live in college dorms and supervise the residents. Essentially, they're meant to be resources, policy enforcers, and a friendly guide for students who need anything. 
> 
> I'm very excited for you to read this new story. What I love most is that I have big plans for subplots for some of our other characters. This is still primarily a Rini fic, since Rini has my heart, but I'll also be exploring some of the other characters and their dynamics more than I was able to in my previous AU. Title is inspired by an Elie Wiesel quote, and also the song "Stubborn Love" by the Lumineers. This is my first real enemies-to-friends-to-lovers fic. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this introductory chapter!

Ricky opens the trunk of his car and stares at the bags and boxes that lie in disarray, strewn across the folded-down rear seats and spilling into the front.  _ How the hell did I sleep in here last night?  _ He regrets not listening to his mom now. She’d practically begged him to leave some of this stuff behind in Chicago, insisting he could come get it over Thanksgiving break. He’d mumbled about wanting to make sure he could bring it all home in one trip and she’d left it that, neither one willing to admit that the real reason he wanted to bring all his stuff with him was because he wasn’t sure he’d be going home for Thanksgiving in the first place. 

Still, staring at the sheer amount of items, he starts to wonder if it might’ve been worth it to tough out another holiday at home. It’ll take him at least a dozen trips to haul everything to his dorm, and unlike previous years, there isn’t an army of RAs and volunteers waiting to help him. 

In fact, there isn’t anyone around at all. It’s eerily silent on campus, even though it’s a warm and sunny day - the kind of day that would normally bring hoards of students out to the quad with their laptops and guitars and hammocks and easels. All he hears now is the occasional chirp of birds and the distant hum of traffic from the interstate. The girl at the check-in desk had seemed alarmed when he walked in, as if she hadn’t seen another living soul inside East Hall in weeks. He’d thought it was funny at the time, but he understands now. 

Up until now, he’d only ever been in East Hall twice. Both times were at night, and he wasn’t sober for either. He never noticed how open the lobby is, with its bright blue accent walls and swirl-patterned purple armchairs and funky lime green ottomans. He never paid attention to how the gray floor tiles and white laminate countertop at the check-in desk were polished to a high shine. He doesn’t remember the building being this cold, either. The air conditioning is turned up so high in the lobby that he seriously considers putting on a coat. All he knew was that the rooms were large and they had their own bathrooms, making them ideal for parties.

Ricky would be lying if he said getting his own room wasn’t the main reason he applied for the RA job in the first place. The second he discovered he’d have his own space, he’d made it his mission to get hired. Being roommates with Big Red was great, but his best friend’s endless array of machines: humidifier for his sinuses, CPAP for his sleep apnea, white noise for his insomnia, had made it impossible to get a good night’s rest. Besides, with a room to himself, he’ll be free to bring as many girls and guys back as he wants, and he won’t have to worry about Big Red walking in on them. Depending on how this goes, he might even be able to throw a party or two of his own without having to worry about getting written up. 

The reality of living alone quickly sets in, though, when Ricky opens his door for the first time. He’s confronted by a charmless, sterile space that, like the lobby, is about ten degrees too cold. The whole room carries the odor of fresh paint, mixed with the lingering, artificial lemony scent of whatever cleaning solution they used to disinfect it. The white tiled floors are waxed and sparkling, and the white walls are completely unmarred. All of the furniture - the single bed frame and twin XL mattress, the blocky wooden desk, the four-drawer dresser - is pushed against one wall. A purple armchair similar to the ones in the lobby sits opposite. He sets his suitcase down and is startled by the echo.

His room was never a Pinterest-worthy, perfectly color-coordinated setup, but it had never felt barren either. Between the plush, gray rug Big Red’s mom had bought them, the myriad skateboard posters, and the dust bunnies that rapidly accumulated because neither of them swept often enough, there were at least some signs that people lived there. Everything here is clinical and devoid of personality, and he can’t help but feel that with just one set of furniture, the room is only half-finished. He opens the bathroom door and peeks in. The single lightbulb flickers and hums overhead, and the whole thing reminds him of a doctor’s office.

On his third trip out to the car, a silver Volkswagen pulls in behind him and a girl steps out. Her hair is swept up in a high bun and her face is mostly obscured by her oversized sunglasses. She’s tall and leggy, and judging from the strip of brown skin exposed by her crop tank, very fit, too. She offers a small smile when she sees him. He doesn’t want to admit how relieved he is to see another person on campus. 

“Moving in, too?” she asks, approaching. 

Ricky smirks and gestures to the car full of boxes. “How could you tell?” 

“Are you an RA?” she asks, pausing beside him. 

“Yeah.” 

“Me, too. I’m Gina,” she offers him a hand and he takes it. Her grip is firm. “I’m in the six-hundred wing.”

“Ricky,” he replies. “Three-hundred wing.” 

She nods sagely. Up until this moment, he hadn’t even been aware there was a six-hundred wing. He’d skimmed the welcome email until he found his name and room assignment, and that was as far as he got. 

“So, Ricky,” Gina says, her gaze flitting from him to the white stucco facade of East Hall, “any tips for a newbie like me?” 

He’s momentarily surprised. There’s a cool, easy confidence to her that led him to believe this wasn’t her first time working in the building. A sense of relief washes over him when he realizes there’s at least one other new RA on staff. He wouldn’t ordinarily care about being the new kid. He was the new kid when his mom first moved him to Chicago, and again when they moved in with Todd, and then again after they got married and decided Highland Park was a better place to “raise” him. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that it’s a good thing Gina’s also new. At least there will be one other person who gets it.

“I wouldn’t know,” he says wryly. “I’m new, too.”

“No kidding,” Gina answers. “Looks like we’re in this together then.”

It takes him another twelve trips to the car before everything’s unloaded, and by the time he finishes, he’s soaked in sweat and grateful that the A/C doesn’t ever seem to shut off. He thinks about texting his mother to let her know he arrived, just as she requested, but decides to put it off. He eases himself to a sitting position in the middle of the floor. His legs are on fire from the constant back-and-forth from his room to the car. The tile feels frigid, even through his shorts, and he sighs as he looks at the bags and boxes that surround him: his entire life scattered across a 13 x 13 room.

There’s no organization to anything. In his haste to leave the house, he’d simply jammed things wherever he could find room. His toothpaste and shower gel is stuffed inexplicably into a crate containing textbooks and a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. His clothes are split amongst five different suitcases, folded and thrown together haphazardly until they all fit. He tells himself he should start unpacking, that he should start figuring out how to lay out his new home. It’ll be good to rearrange it and make it feel more full. But it’s also overwhelming, and he doesn’t know where to start. He smiles ruefully as he surveys the mess. Nobody warned him how depressing it would be to have a half-empty room to himself.

* * *

_ You’ve gotta get used to doing things yourself, babygirl. Nobody else is gonna do it for you.  _ Her mother’s words echo in Gina’s head as she piles as many boxes as she dares on top of each other before grabbing the whole stack and sliding them out of the trunk. In hindsight, her mom probably said those things as justification for why she couldn’t be there to help her move into her dorm. It was the same story freshman year, and when she asked for help studying for the SATs, and when she’d taught her how to cook and sew and do a million other things that most people probably paid others to do. Still, it’s sound advice. It’s also painfully accurate, because there’s literally no one else on campus to help her if she drops the teetering pile of boxes. She stumbles her way to the front door of East Hall and thanks the universe for the invention of automatic doors. 

She briefly considers finding the boy she met earlier - Ricky - and seeing if he might lend a hand. He seemed strong enough. At the very least, he was able to maneuver his minifridge out of the passenger seat of his car. But he’s also moving in, and she doesn’t want to be  _ that  _ coworker so soon. Or at all. 

Gina pauses outside of room 601 and fumbles for her key. The lock lets out a satisfying click when she twists the key, and a rush of frigid, conditioned air blows over her the moment she eases the door open, raising goosebumps on her bare arms.

_ Whoa. _

She lived in East Hall last year. One of the many perks of being in the honors program was that she was automatically placed here with the other honors students. But she’d always imagined the RA rooms were smaller on account of them being occupied by only a single person. That’s not the case. The room is the same size as any other, only with one set of furniture instead of two. It’s the biggest room she’s ever had. She’s pretty sure she’s shared apartments with her mom that were smaller than this. And unlike last year, it’s all hers. It’s a little daunting.

Last year, she’d had a roommate to help decorate and furnish the room, and even then, her side always felt a little bare. Life on the road meant she never had a chance to accumulate years’ worth of stuff: no souvenir shot glass collection or motivational posters or Polaroids of friends. She’d lived her entire childhood ready to go at a moment’s notice, suitcase half-packed. Even so, when she’d crammed all of her possessions into the back of her station wagon and taken it to the storage unit, it’d seemed like a lot. Standing in the middle of her new room, though, she can already tell she won’t be able to fill even a quarter of it with what she currently has.

She moves to the bare mattress, encased in its blue, bed bug-resistant cover, and contemplates flopping down on it. Somehow, it manages to look inviting after the twelve hour drive up from Atlanta.  _ Maybe just a quick power nap _ . She thinks better of it. Parking enforcement has a reputation for being overzealous. Who knows how long they’ll ignore her car in the fire lane? Besides, there’s still plenty to do before their first staff meeting, and she’s reasonably sure that once training starts, there won’t be any time for her to unpack or organize. 

* * *

“Nini, sweetie, where do you want to keep your makeup?” Mama D asks, brandishing a container full of lipsticks and eyeliners Nini knows she’ll never use. “The bathroom or the closet?” 

“Oh, uh…”

“Honey,” Mama C calls from the opposite side of the room, “would you say this is a fall or winter sweater?” 

“Um…” 

“Nini!” Mama D shouts from the bathroom. “How do you normally fold your towels?” 

“I…” 

“Nini!” 

“Okay, moms,” Nini sighs in exasperation, “family conference?” 

“Okay, but be quick,” Mama D pokes her head out of the bathroom. “Still lots to unpack.” 

“Guys, don’t get me wrong,” Nini says, “I’m really,  _ really  _ happy you came with me for move-in day.” 

“Of course, sweetie,” Mama C crosses to her side, closing a gentle hand over her shoulder. Mama D joins her on her other side. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

“I know,” Nini says, “and I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful. It’s just that… I’m a junior now. I can unpack myself.” 

“Oh, Nini, we know that,” Mama C says. “It’s not that we think you can’t do it. We just want to help.” 

“Besides,” Mama D throws in, “you’ll be busy once training starts. You said so yourself.” 

Nini nods slowly. Her moms need this, and she understands why. She’s their only child. They only have one chance to experience all the milestones. And as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she needs this, too. They’ll be back on a plane to Denver tonight, and she’ll be alone on the East Coast until Thanksgiving. Facetime calls and Mama D’s daily fortune cookie platitude text are sorry replacements for having her moms there in person. She’ll miss Mama C’s warm hugs, Mama D’s healthy snacks, settling on the family room couch after dinner to watch The Voice. 

_ Pull it together, Neens. You’re an adult.  _ This is her moms’ only day in town. They should be in New York, taking in a show, eating an overpriced meal, or dodging costumed actors on the neon-soaked streets of Times Square. Not here in a dorm, unpacking their daughters’ belongings like she’s five years old. But she can’t bring herself to stop them, so she stands limply in the middle of the room and watches the flurry of activity as Mama D unpacks her textbooks and Mama C sets up her egg chair. 

There is a comforting sense of familiarity about the place. The walls have been repainted, and everything’s been waxed and polished, but there are little hints that room 401 was hers last year, too. She likes the little hidden secrets only she knows about: the oddly-shaped red nail polish stain from when Kourtney, in a fit of laughter, accidentally knocked over the tube, the multicolored dots inked into the surface of the desk where her Sharpies bled through while making door tags, the miniscule chip in the lightswitch faceplate from when EJ, against her advice, chucked a football to Seb that went a little too wide. She was relieved when she discovered she’d be returning to this exact floor and this exact room. No one else would have known the stories that went with each incidental mark. 

* * *

EJ pulls his SUV into the fire lane outside East Hall and glances up at the building, his eyes seeking the top floor. He tries to pick out which window will be his. He was thrilled when Ben informed him that he’d be taking over the men’s floor now that Kaden had graduated. He’d wanted that spot since he was first hired three years ago. _Your time to shine_ _.  _

“Thanks for the ride,” Ashlyn says, unbuckling herself from the passenger seat and pushing her door open. 

He pushes the button in the dashboard to kill the engine and opens his own door. “No big deal,” he shrugs. “We’re going to the same place.” His cousin shoots him a look that says,  _ just accept the thank you.  _ “Besides,” he adds, watching as Ashlyn’s eyebrow arches higher, “it’s the least I could do since your parents are helping me move my stuff.” 

On cue, Ashlyn’s parents pull up in the Suburban. Her dad honks the horn and waves from the driver’s seat like he didn’t just see them at home twenty minutes ago. “Don’t mention it,” she replies. “Not like your dad’s convertible would’ve been able to fit all your stuff, right?” 

EJ grimaces momentarily, but quickly regains control of his expression. “Yeah,” he says, trying to cover the bitterness in his tone with a rueful laugh. “But he still could’ve offered.” 

Ashlyn snaps her gaze toward him, and he can already see the sympathy in her expression out of the corner of his eye. It’s exactly the expression he was trying to avoid. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should be used to this by now. He’d moved himself in freshman and sophomore year, after all. And when Ashlyn followed in his footsteps and was hired at East Hall, it was her parents that had saved him from multiple trips home to retrieve all of his belongings. He isn’t sure why he thought his senior year would be any different. 

He pops the tailgate and Ashlyn reaches in, slinging her backpack carelessly over one shoulder. “Hey, at least you’ve got the men’s floor this year,” she says brightly. He knows she’s trying to change the subject, that she feels bad for inadvertently bringing up a sore spot. He lets her. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, craning his neck and scanning the top floor windows once again. He’s pretty sure he’s identified which view will be his. 

“EJ,” Ashlyn says, calling his attention back to her. She nudges him lightly. “I’m proud of you.” 

His smile is genuine this time.

* * *

Seb eases the green Subaru to a creaking halt, puts on the hazard lights, and shoulders the door open. 

“Finally,” Carlos exults, fumbling with his seatbelt in the passenger seat. “I’ve had to pee since Stamford.” 

Seb whips his head around in alarm. “That was an hour ago!” he cries. 

Carlos shrugs. “How was I supposed to know? This is my first time going from your place to school. None of this is familiar to me.” 

Seb shakes his head in fond exasperation as he uses both hands to pry the trunk open. “Be honest,” he says, blinking at his boyfriend behind owlish frames. “Did you have a good time?” 

His family can be, well, a  _ lot _ . There’s nine of them in total: his parents, him, his four brothers, and his two sisters. He never felt like he had a big family growing up. The farm had enough space so that each of them had their own spots. His was the barn, where he had enough room to work on choreography. The cows were a very discerning audience. 

Deerfield is a far cry from the glitziness of the Vegas Strip, though, and Carlos has only ever lived with his mother. Going from that to a farm in the middle of nowhere Massachusetts with nine others had to be jarring, and even though his boyfriend did his best to play the perfect, gracious houseguest, he knows that a lot of the realities of farm life: the dark nights, the solitude, the  _ smell  _ were foreign and uncomfortable for him. Was it a mistake to ask Carlos to meet his family and spend a week with them only nine months into their relationship?

“I had a great time,” Carlos says, reaching into the trunk and pulling out a rhinestone-encrusted duffel bag. Seb isn’t sure if it's his or his boyfriend’s. “Thank you. Seriously,” Carlos continues. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, devoid of the bombastic fervor and exaggeration that had first drawn Seb to him. That’s how he knows his boyfriend is being serious. “Your family is so nice to me,” Carlos says wistfully. “I almost didn’t wanna leave.” He lets out a long sigh, his gaze slipping from Seb to the building that looms before them. 

Seb follows his gaze. He can practically hear his thoughts. “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” he says encouragingly, trying to head off his boyfriend’s pending spiral. “I mean, you’ll be training for the rec center job this whole week. And once you start working, you’ll hardly ever be in your room, right? You said so yourself. And I’m just a couple of floors down if you need me.”

“They put me on the men’s floor,” Carlos says pointedly. “The  _ men’s  _ floor, Seb. I specifically asked for a co-ed floor! Too much testosterone in one place. It’s like a breeding ground for homophobia.” 

“It was a mistake,” Seb soothes. “I’m sure something will open up, and they already promised to switch you as soon as it does.” He does his best to project confidence, but he knows the odds are slim right now. There’s always a waitlist for room switches, and he’d said the same thing all summer without any results. He rubs slow, soothing circles into Carlos’s back. 

Carlos stretches and pretends that his boyfriend’s attempts to calm him down worked. It’s not Seb’s fault, but he wishes his boyfriend was a little less nonchalant about the whole thing. An all men’s floor might not seem like the end of the world to him, but he’s seen Seb’s hometown. There can’t be more than a few hundred people, and half of them are probably related to the Matthew-Smiths by blood. Even though it’s a small, farming town, it’s still Massachusetts. It was no big deal when Seb came out.

“For what it’s worth,” Seb offers, “I don’t think anyone will care that you’re gay, men’s floor or not. And even if they did, EJ’s a good RA and an even better friend. He would never let something like that stand on his floor. He’ll stick up for you.” It’s the one promise he feels confident in.

Carlos pretends like the idea brings him comfort. He resists the urge to point out that EJ won’t be around twenty-four, seven. If experience has taught him anything, it’s that he needs to be most wary when the authority figure - the teacher, the lunch monitor, the RA - has their back turned.

* * *

The silence of an empty dorm has a noise all its own, Ricky learns, as he makes his fourth trip down the hall to the garbage room. Every time he slams the door, the echoes reverberate for what feels like hours. His own dragging footsteps sound strange, muffled against the low-pile carpet that lines the hall. Every so often, the walls creak as the building settles. He isn’t sure if there’s actually a ringing in his ears, or if he’s just imagining it to compensate for the lack of all signs of life. 

Big Red should be moving in tonight. He’d jumped at the opportunity to move in early and escape the boredom of his parents’ house, even if it meant he would have to volunteer to help everyone else move in later. His is the last room on the left at the end of the three-hundred wing, and even though they’ll be on opposite sides of the hall, Ricky can’t wait for his best friend to get here. He can’t wait for  _ someone  _ to get here.

When he gets back to his room, Ricky digs out his portable speaker and connects it to his phone before cranking the volume way up. MGMT bursts from the speaker. The thump of bass and the heavy beat of drums drowns out the oppressive silence, and he feels himself starting to relax as he sifts through the haphazard array of boxes and suitcases in search of a towel and underwear. His first staff meeting is at six, and he figures the least he could do is shower so he isn’t sweaty and disheveled when he meets his coworkers for the first time.

* * *

EJ smiles as he strides into the conference room five minutes ahead of schedule. Of course, Nini and Ashlyn are already there, sitting at the conference table with their planners out, talking about their summer vacations.

“... _ and  _ high priestess at the renaissance fair?” Nini gasps. “I thought I had a lot on my plate working and doing summer classes.” 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ashlyn says, “I have an assignment due tonight for my sociology class.” She makes a note in her agenda. 

“EJ! Welcome back!” Jenn says, turning from the whiteboard at the front of the room, a purple dry erase marker still uncapped and poised in her hand. She’s already started writing on the board in her large, loopy hand. WELCOME EAST HALL STAFF!

“Yes, hello, Mr. Caswell,” Ben looks up from the podium in the corner of the room with a wry smile. 

“Jenn, Ben,” he answers in a playful tone, “did you miss me?” 

“It was...quiet without you,” Ben concedes, his lips turning ever-so-slightly upward beneath his mustache. 

Even that is uncharacteristically high praise from Ben Mazzara, and EJ takes it as a point of pride that his absence was felt. 

“Grab a seat,” Jenn instructs. “We’re just waiting on the others to get here, and then we’ll get started.” 

He makes his way over to the conference table and drops into a seat beside Ashlyn and across from Nini. The latter smiles at him brightly. He’s glad that the breakup hasn’t affected their friendship. Nini’s great. He’d immediately felt a gravity about her when they met last year. Something about her made people trust her implicitly, and their friendship had grown rapidly as a result. It wasn’t until three months into their relationship spring semester that they’d realized they were better off as friends. Just as well, since it would’ve been difficult to maintain a relationship long distance over the summer. Especially when he lived twenty minutes from campus, and she lived a five-hour plane ride away. 

“Ready for senior year?” Nini asks.

“Not really,” he replies, trying his best to play it off like a joke. He knows she’s unconvinced. She knows him well enough to know there’s a wave of anxiety just beneath the surface. “Okay, not at all,” he confesses. 

“But why?” Nini asks sympathetically. “I mean, you’ll finally be out of here, right? You’ll get to get a job, live your life, be free to do whatever you want.” 

He doesn’t know how to explain to her that those are the very things that terrify him. In here, he’s EJ Caswell. He’s the RA, the president of Gamma Pi, one of only seven people to hold a perfect 4.0 GPA in the business major. Out there? He’s just another kid looking for an entry-level job, and no amount of his father’s connections can guarantee he’ll make the cut. 

The conference room door opens and a girl walks in. Her dark, curly hair falls to her shoulders, and she stands with perfect posture, dark eyes darting around the room for a moment. Jenn walks up to her, and they exchange some pleasantries before the building director points her towards the table. 

“Hi,” the girl announces, walking up to them. “Is one of you Eric?” 

Ashlyn smiles and turns teasing eyes on her cousin. 

“You can call me EJ,” he answers, standing up slowly. 

“Sorry, it says Eric on the staff roster,” she apologizes. “I’m Gina. I’m the RA for the other wing on our floor, so I guess that makes us co’s.” 

He sizes her up. He figured he’d be getting a new co, but he was concerned when he found out that his new partner would be a sophomore. He was a sophomore RA his first year. He knows how hard it can be to get older students to take a younger RA seriously. But looking at Gina, he’s pretty sure she can handle herself. She’s tall, almost imposing in stature, and she carries herself with confidence. The look in her eye is steely, even as she smiles. If he hadn’t already known she was a sophomore, he wouldn’t have guessed it. She could probably pass for a grad student. “Welcome,” he says, indicating the seat next to him. She sits. 

“So, I wanted to talk about our bulletin board,” she says. “I had some ideas…” 

EJ glances across the table at Nini, who smiles in approval at their newest colleague. Seb joins them a minute later, and then they wait for their final member to join them. 

At 6:03, Nini leans across the table. “The new guy’s already late,” she tuts disapprovingly.

“Maybe he’s lost?” Seb suggests. 

“True,” Ashlyn throws in. “This place is sort of a maze if you aren’t familiar with it already.” 

“If he didn’t know his way around, he should’ve scoped it out ahead of time,” Nini replies unsympathetically. “I had the whole building mapped out by my first night. He better get here quick. You know Ben hates lateness.”

EJ knows that she really means  _ she  _ hates lateness, and their missing coworker is holding things up. “I’ll go look for him,” he offers, standing up from the table. For the new guy’s sake, he hopes he finds him quickly. He’s going to be Nini’s co-RA this year, and at this rate, she’ll kill him before midterms.

* * *

Ricky wanders around the bottom floor of the building for the third time, scrutinizing every door he comes across. Laundry room, mail room, community room, kitchen. He checks his phone again. 6:05. He’s already late, which isn’t that big a deal. It’s only five minutes. The bigger problem is that none of these doors say “conference room,” and at this point, he’s beginning to think such a place doesn’t exist. 

As he prepares to make a fourth circuit, he spots a boy at the other end of the hall, clad in a white t-shirt with gold Greek letters he can’t read and basketball shorts. His slides make a rhythmic  _ slap, slap, slap  _ against the floor as he strides toward him. As he gets closer, Ricky can see he’s less of a college student and more of a Hollister model: summer-tanned, close-cropped dark hair, and striking blue-green eyes.

“Lost?” he asks. 

“Sort of,” Ricky answers sheepishly. “I’m looking for the conference room.” 

“Well you’re looking in the wrong place,” the boy says, flashing a perfectly white smile. “Conference room’s on the main floor.”

“This building makes no sense,” Ricky grumbles. 

“You get used to it,” he answers. “I’m EJ, by the way.” 

“Ricky,” Ricky says. 

* * *

The conference room, it turns out, is tucked behind a wall on the main floor of the building. There is a whiteboard at the front, and a mahogany podium. The center of the room is dominated by a long table with green chairs arranged around it. A blonde woman in a bright yellow sundress and an impeccably dressed man with a mustache stand at the front of the room. Both of them turn their eyes on Ricky when he enters, EJ right behind him. 

“I found our lost sheep,” EJ declares triumphantly, then moves to take a seat at the table. 

The blonde woman smiles, her blue eyes twinkling. If she’s upset that he’s late, she doesn’t let on. “Ricky, there you are sweetie,” she says. Her tone is maternal. Or maybe guidance-counselor-ish. He can’t decide. “We were about to call in the search and rescue teams,” she continues with a smile. “Grab a seat. You’re just in time.” 

“Seven minutes past time,” the man with the mustache mumbles, “but we’ll excuse you on your first day.” He greets Ricky with a curt nod. 

Ricky slinks over to the table, where five others are already seated. He spots Gina beside EJ, and she smiles at him as he sizes up the rest of the group. A redhead flanks EJ on his other side. Across the table, a blond boy with large vintage glasses waves at him. A petite brunette sits beside him, and he can’t help but think she’d be pretty if she didn’t have such a sour expression on. He glances around, wondering who she’s frowning at, and then realizes it’s him. And the only open seat left in the room happens to be right beside her. He drops into it and offers her his most winning smile. 

“I’m Ricky,” he says. 

“I know,” she bites out. 

He leans back in his seat like he’s been stung. He looks past the brunette to the blond boy beside her, sending him a questioning glance.  _ What the hell is her problem?  _ He only shrugs in reply. 

“I’m the RA in the three-hundred wing,” he tries again. 

“I know,” the brunette repeats, less venomously this time. “I’m Nini. I’m the RA in the four-hundred wing. Which means we’re co’s.” 

Something about the way she says it tells him that she’s not happy about this fact. He isn’t sure what a co is, but he remembers seeing something about it in the welcome email he’d received when he was first hired. He sizes the girl up. Everything about her is small: her stature, her build, the way she curls her body toward the table, as if she’s trying to hunker down beneath it.  _ Nini _ . It’s an odd name, but it seems to suit her. Short and to-the-point. 

“Alright, people!” the blonde woman calls, clapping her hands together in a startlingly-loud staccato. “Let’s not waste any more time. Some of you traveled very far to get here,” she settles her eyes on Nini, then Gina, then on Ricky, “and I’m sure you’ll want to get some rest. Now that we’re all here, we can get the introductions started. My name is Jennifer Jenn. You can call me Jenn. I’m co-director of East Hall. Over there is my lovely assistant, the one-and-only Mr. Ben Mazzara.” 

“ _ Co-director _ ,” the man corrects pointedly, stepping out from behind the podium and standing beside the blonde woman. He’s a head taller than her, despite the fact that she’s wearing heels. “And might I remind you, Jenn, that I’ve technically been here longer than you?” There is a smug, teasing smirk on his face. 

“Details,” Jenn waves him off playfully. 

“Her first name and last name are the same?” Ricky asks to no one in particular. 

“No, her first name is Jennifer,” EJ answers. “And her last name is Jenn. But she goes by Jenn. What’s so confusing about that?” 

“Well is Jenn short for Jennifer, or does she just like to go by her last name?” Ricky questions.

EJ opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again and drops his gaze to the table. He looks ready to spiral into a full-on existential crisis until Nini leans over and shushes them both disapprovingly. Ricky can’t help but feel that her glare is noticeably more pointed at him than at EJ. 

“...I take care of budgeting, approving work orders, and disciplinary infractions,” Ben is saying. 

“And I do the fun stuff,” Jenn breaks in. “Programs, giveaways, contests, social media…” 

“All of which wouldn’t be possible without my help on the back-end,” Ben points out. 

“Are they always like this?” Gina asks. 

All four experienced RAs nod. 

“I promise they’re friends,” Seb adds. “Somehow.” 

“Alright, enough about us,” Jenn says. “We want to hear about you! Why don’t we go around the table and introduce ourselves? Tell us your name, your year, your major, and the wing you’re responsible for. And you know what? We’re all about goals in East Hall. Why not tell us a goal you have for yourself, too. Long-term or short-term. Who wants to start?” 

Ricky looks down.  _ What is this? The first day of classes?  _ He racks his brain for a goal he can share, but nothing comes to mind.  _ I just drove twelve hours and slept in my car _ , he wants to cry.  _ Cut me some slack. I can barely form a sentence, much less a goal for myself. _

“I’ll go,” EJ volunteers. “I’m EJ Caswell. I’m a senior. My major is business with a minor in entrepreneurship, and I’m in the five-hundred wing. It’s the men’s floor,” he adds with a note of pride. “And my goal is just to make the most of senior year.” 

“That’s an excellent goal,” Jenn smiles, then turns her attention across the table. “And we’re glad you came back for one more year with us. Ricky?” 

“Huh?” he blurts, earning him a scoff from Nini beside him. 

“Would you like to go?” the co-director prompts. 

_ Go back to my room? Sure.  _ “Oh, uh…”  _ Think! Think! What’s a goal?  _ EJ made it look so easy, but then again he’s probably done this time and time again. Plus he looks  _ like that _ , so really, who cares what comes out of his mouth? Besides, he has a real major that people won’t question. He’s almost afraid to see Nini’s reaction when he tells the room that his majors are film and music. “Pass?” he finally says lamely. 

Jenn frowns momentarily and he can see Nini roll her eyes out of his periphery. “Why don’t we come back to you?” the co-director suggests, and he nods weakly. “Nini, sweetie? Are you ready?” 

“Sure,” she answers readily, her tone airy. “I’m Nini Salazar-Roberts.” 

_ Of course she hyphenates her last name _ .

“I’m a junior. I’m majoring in English with a minor in journalism, and I’m the RA for the four-hundred wing. And I’m the opinions editor for the school paper this year, so my goal is to include as many voices and perspectives as I can.” She smiles primly, and something about it rubs Ricky the wrong way. Like she meant to show him up. 

He gets so caught up in trying to figure his co out that it almost doesn’t process when the redhead across the table introduces herself as Ashlyn Caswell and proceeds to list a slew of majors and minors before adding that she’s the RA for the women’s floor. He barely hears Gina when she tells them that her major is criminal justice and her long-term goal is to reform the justice system from the inside as a district attorney. He tunes back in just as the blond boy - Seb - is mentioning his dance and psychology majors and shares that his floor is dedicated to being a safe space for members of the LGBTQ community. 

“And my goal is to one day become a certified movement therapist and own my own studio,” he announces, smiling brightly. 

Silence falls over the conference room, and Ricky quickly realizes that all eyes have returned to him.  _ Crap! Goals, goals, goals.  _

“I’m Ricky Bowen,” he says, hoping his smile hides just how uncertain he feels. “I’m a junior. My majors are music and film…” Sure enough, he catches a slight grimace from Nini. Or maybe he just imagined it. “I’m in the three-hundred wing, and my goal for this year…”  _ Think, Bowen, think!  _ “I guess my goal for this year is just to survive,” he shrugs. 

“Well, survival is definitely a good goal to have,” Jenn says cheerfully. “And you’ve got a whole team of coworkers here who are ready to help you make it through.” 

Somehow, Ricky doubts it.

They announce that new staff will be mentored by returning staff, and quickly assign him to EJ and Ashlyn. Nini and Seb are given charge of Gina. They hand out a packet of papers and run through the schedule for the coming days: when meals will be served, what sessions they’ll attend and when, deadlines for bulletin boards and door tags and a million other things Ricky didn’t realize he was signing up for when he applied for the job.

“And remember,” Ben says, leveling his gaze at Ricky, “the times listed on your agenda are hard start times. We here at East Hall have a saying. ‘Ten minutes early is right on time.’ So let’s try to be prompt, yes?” 

Ricky nods sheepishly, and when he looks away from Ben, he notices that Nini is giving him the same look. 

* * *

“I think we have time for an icebreaker,” Jenn says, glancing at the slim, silver watch on her wrist. 

Nini barely suppresses a groan. The night seemed to be winding down, and as much as she loves most of her coworkers, she’s already going to be getting next-to-no sleep as her body tries to adjust to the time difference. 

“Let’s pair off into co’s,” Jenn suggests, and this time, Nini fails to hide her displeasure. 

She looks over at Ricky, who only smirks sideways at her.  _ He’s enjoying this way too much.  _ There’s just something about her new co: the way he slouches over in his chair, the way he showed up almost ten minutes late to their first meeting, the way he treats this whole thing like a joke. He might as well have “slacker” tattooed across his forehead. She can already tell where this is going. Just like every group project in her life, she’ll be the one doing all the work.

“What exactly is a co?” Ricky questions.

“Your co is your partner,” Jenn elaborates. “The two of you will come together to run your floor. It’s a sacred bond built on trust, mutual goals, and a shared vision. No one will have your back like your co. Believe me.” 

Nini had believed Jenn’s speech on the sanctity of co-RA bonds last year, and Emily had proven herself to be an affable team player. This year is different, though. Ricky doesn’t seem like he’ll have her back so much as stab it, inadvertently or intentionally. 

“Buddy up!” Jenn urges as she begins rummaging in a shopping bag. 

Seb rushes over to Ashlyn, and EJ and Gina stand off to one side. Nini sucks in a breath and turns stiffly to her new partner. “Hi,” she says, her voice a few octaves higher than normal. 

“Hey,” he drawls. 

“So, uh, looks like we’re co’s,” she tries to feign excitement. 

“Yup,” Ricky replies, drawing out the syllable. 

Nini rocks on her heels. “Did you, uh, have any ideas? For bulletin boards or door tags or...stuff?” 

Ricky shrugs. “Not really.”

_ Great. _

“Okay,” Jenn calls their attention back to her. “I’m handing each team a bag of balloons and a roll of tape. Your mission is to construct the tallest free-standing balloon tower you can in ten minutes. Any questions?” she pauses for a brief moment. No one raises their hand. “Great! On-your-mark-get-set-go!” she says breathlessly. 

Nini looks up at her coworkers. Gina tears into the bag of balloons quickly and passes a red one to EJ. He takes a massive gulp of air, then inflates the balloon almost to bursting. Across from them, Seb and Ashlyn both begin blowing up their balloons. 

“So I think we should plan out our tower,” Nini turns to Ricky, only to find that her co has already started inflating their balloons, too. “Ricky, before we get to the balloon-blowing, maybe we should draw a mockup.” She crosses back to the table and picks up her steno pad, rifling through the pages of copious notes until she finds a clean sheet. 

“Or we could start blowing up the balloons and taping them together,” Ricky suggests, releasing a green balloon from his lips. It lets out a razz as it deflates. 

“Okay, but wouldn’t it be easier if we had a drawing to follow?” 

“Not really,” he says. “Look, the other groups have already started blowing theirs up. We can figure it out as we go.” 

Nini inhales sharply, then releases a measured breath. “ _ Ricky _ ,” she tries to force neutrality into her tone, “Just because everyone else is blowing up their balloons, doesn’t mean we should be, too.” 

“We’re falling behind,” he protests. 

“We can catch up! We need a plan.” 

“What we  _ need _ are balloons.” 

Nini lets out a grunt of frustration. “You know what? Fine. Blow up as many balloons as you want. I’ll be over here coming up with a design that’ll actually help us win.” 

“Fine,” Ricky retorts. “Plan all you want. You still need balloons if you’re gonna make a tower.” 

She resists the urge to plug her fingers in her ears and tell him she can’t hear him, and pulls up a seat at the conference table to begin sketching out an idea. The tower needs to stand on its own, and they’ll need as many balloons as they can spare to give it height. She looks up. Ricky is sitting on the floor, a yellow balloon dangling from his lips. He blows into it, but it quickly fizzles and shrinks, and he has to suck in another breath before he tries again. His cheeks puff out with the effort.

Across the conference room, EJ and Gina move like a well-oiled machine. They’re barely talking at all, and EJ has the same game face he did when she watched him at the intramural volleyball championship. She watches as Gina inflates a balloon, ties it off, and passes it to him before immediately grabbing another. In the far corner of the room, Ashlyn and Seb have already begun constructing their tower. Seb holds the balloons in place, letting Ashlyn tape the stems together to form a sturdy base. Nini turns back to her steno pad, trying to envision a way to make the tower stand freely while also building height. A sudden  _ pop _ pulls her from her thoughts and causes her to jump, her pen streaking diagonally across the page. Ashlyn lets out a startled scream. 

“Sorry,” Ricky mumbles, the remnants of a pink balloon caught in his mouth. 

Nini rolls her eyes. “Could you be more careful?” she requests. “You made me lose focus.” 

“You know what would really help?” Ricky replies. She hates the smug sarcasm that drips from his tone. “If you came over here and helped me blow up the rest of these.” 

She doesn’t dignify him with a response. 

* * *

“And that’s time!” Jenn calls. “Step away from the balloon towers.” 

EJ and Gina gingerly back away from their creation. It teeters precariously for a moment, then settles, standing nearly as tall as EJ himself. They grin at each other and high-five. 

Ashlyn and Seb stare at their balloon tower for a moment. Its three-balloon base is sturdy, but coupled with the long, central shaft, it is unmistakably phallic. 

“It looks like…” Ashlyn starts, but her voice is quickly overcome by her own giggling. 

Seb arches one eyebrow playfully. “Like what?” 

She smacks his arm lightly. “Don’t play innocent! You know exactly what it looks like.” 

“Why, Ashlyn Moon Caswell,” he replies in an exaggeratedly scandalized tone. “I swear I have no idea what you mean. What kind of boy do you take me for?” 

“Good work, everyone,” Jenn says. “Nini? Ricky? Where’s your tower?” 

Nini looks down ashamedly at the five solitary balloons that litter the floor, along with the burst remnants of the four Ricky managed to overinflate. She’s pretty sure he deliberately popped the last one to annoy her. If nothing else, he’s clearly full of hot air. “We…” 

“We had some technical difficulties,” Ricky puts in. 

“I see,” the co-director nods slowly. “Well, congratulations EJ and Gina! You had the tallest free-standing balloon tower and you are the winners of this challenge!” 

Nini gives them the best round of applause she can muster, but it feels half-hearted. She’s confident she could have come up with a taller, more stable design if Ricky hadn’t distracted her every three seconds by trying to get her to come inflate those stupid balloons with him. 

“I hope you all learned something valuable about the way you function with your co as a team,” Jenn says. 

_ Yeah _ , Nini thinks.  _ I’ve learned that we  _ don’t  _ function as a team.  _

Ben leans over and drops his voice to a murmur only he and Jenn can hear. “Are you sure about those two?” he eyes Ricky and Nini as they pick up the tattered remains of the balloons. “It’s not too late to rearrange the pairs.”

“I have a good feeling about this,” she insists. “Trust the process. Maybe they’ll both learn something…” 

* * *

The RA supply closet is misleading in name. It’s less of a closet and more of a room unto itself, with tables and cabinets full of borders and stencils, and massive reams of colored paper for bulletin boards. Ricky stands in the middle of the room as his coworkers scurry back and forth around him, vying for construction paper and laying claim to hallway themes. 

“I was picturing a Monopoly theme,” EJ says to Gina. “It’s my favorite game.”

“Mine, too!” she says excitedly. “Even if it kinda has a tendency to ruin friendships.” 

“Honestly?” EJ laughs. “That’s part of the appeal.” 

“So I was thinking we could do a bulletin board themed around important womxn in history,” Seb says as Ashlyn roots around for a matching set of borders. 

“I love it!” she says. “I have a textbook from one of my gender studies classes that might help…” 

Ricky turns to his co. It’s pretty clear that Nini hasn’t forgiven him for the whole balloon tower debacle, even though things would’ve been fine if she’d just listened to him in the first place instead of wasting time trying to draw a diagram. “Any ideas?” he asks. 

“Plenty,” she says flatly. “Let’s do a Harry Potter theme. It’s quick, easy, there’s, like, a  _ ton  _ of examples on Pinterest. Plus, everyone recognizes Harry Potter.” 

He scoffs. “Yeah, everyone recognizes it as  _ lame _ . C’mon, Nini, don’t you want our floor to stand out?” 

“I  _ want  _ our floor to be decorated tastefully,” she replies. He resents the implication that his ideas would somehow be distasteful. 

“Yeah, but Harry Potter’s boring. Everyone’s done a Harry Potter theme.” 

“Fine,” she bites out. “What’s your idea then?” 

“Video games,” Ricky declares. “We could make the door tags look like little Gameboys, and the bulletin board can be a bunch of famous video game characters.” 

Nini snorts in derision. “Really? Video games?  _ That’s  _ your great idea?” 

“Better than Harry Potter,” he says defensively. 

Nini puts her hands on her hips. “Ricky, I don’t know if you realize this, but our floor is made up of a lot more people than your  _ bros  _ or whatever. Harry Potter may not be the most original idea, but at least everyone will get it. Not everyone’s gonna get a Super Mario Kart 64 theme.” 

“That’s not even a real game,” he points out. 

“Whatever!” she throws her hands up. “My point is, we need something that will appeal to everyone. Now, are you going to help me or not? I could use some help getting the construction paper.” 

He grumbles as he follows her to the cabinet with half a mind to go with his own idea instead. Screw the coordinated theme. Screw Harry Potter. And screw Nini Salazar-Roberts.

* * *

“She’s a control freak,” Ricky grouses. “I can’t work with her.” 

Big Red hurls the tennis ball straight up in the air, bouncing it off the ceiling and back down into his hand. He hasn’t made the bed yet, and his belongings litter his side of the room, still packed into boxes despite the fact that he arrived hours ago. “Have you considered that maybe she just knows what’s best because she’s already worked here for a year? Maybe she’s just trying to make your life easier.” He tosses the ball in the air again, and it makes a muffled thump against the ceiling. 

“Dude, can you stop that?” Ricky requests distractedly. “What if the person above you already moved in? You’re literally pounding on their floor.” 

Big Red catches the ball and sets it aside, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Dude, it’s only been a day and you’re already  _ such  _ an RA.” 

“Don’t say that,” Ricky protests. “I’m not, like, one of  _ those  _ RAs.” 

“Yet,” Big Red smirks knowingly.

* * *

“I’m telling you, Kourt,” Nini says, propping her phone up against a stack of textbooks on her desk, “I can already tell how this year is gonna go. I’m gonna be stuck doing all the work for both of our halls.” 

“Maybe he’ll get fired,” Kourtney shrugs, turning back to her closet. She holds up a bright pink dress questioningly.

“Nope,” Nini says, picking up a piece of construction paper and the scissors. “I say leave it.” 

“I kinda like it,” her best friend protests. 

“You won’t wear it,” she replies.

“How do you know?” 

“You didn’t wear it last year,” Nini answers. “Save room in your suitcase for something else.” 

“You’re right,” Kourtney sighs, returning the dress to her closet. “Anyway, like I was saying. Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll fire him.” 

“Yeah right,” Nini scoffs. “Jenn never fires anybody.”

“I hate to say it, Neens, but you might just have to grin and bear it, then,” Kourtney says sympathetically, gently laying a cardigan into her suitcase. “Just try and avoid him as much as possible.” 

“Not as easy as it sounds, Kourt. We live where we work. And we’re co’s, so we’re gonna have to see each other a lot. Why couldn’t you have applied? You would’ve got the job for sure.” 

“Are you kidding?” Kourtney scoffs. “The amount of times you got woken up last year to go deal with someone else’s bullshit? I need my beauty sleep. I could’ve moved onto your floor, though.” 

“You know that’s not possible,” Nini chides gently. “It’s a conflict of interest. Besides, you’ll love Ashlyn. She’s great.”

“I guess you’re right,” Kourtney says. “Anyway, I gotta go dig my sheets out of the closet downstairs. Stay strong, Neens. You got this. I’ll be there in a couple days. Promise not to kill your co in the meantime?” 

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” Nini answers, cutting a blue witch hat out of construction paper. 

“Come  _ on _ , Nini. Are you really gonna let this kid ruin your whole junior year before it even starts?” 

“I guess not.” 

“Atta girl. Call me anytime, okay? Even if it’s just to vent.” 

“Believe me,” Nini says sardonically, “I’m gonna need it.”


	2. Night Shift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Or almost New Year, depending on where you are. Seriously, in an absolute dumpster fire of a year, writing has kept me sane and getting to hear your thoughts and talk to you has done so much to uplift me. Thank you all so much for the positivity, thoughtfulness, and feedback. I knew I had to get one more chapter out before the New Year. So without further ado, chapter 2!

Nini wrinkles her nose as she stares at the trays of food placed dispassionately under heat lamps, slowly congealing in their own grease. If there’s one thing she didn’t miss about being on campus, it’s the food. She picks up her plate, still warm and damp from the dishwasher, and makes a beeline for the fruit. Even though the honeydew is barely ripened and all the strawberries are bruised, they’re still miles better than whatever the dining hall is passing off as eggs. 

She spots Gina sitting alone at a two-top table, a mug of coffee slowly cooling in front of her as she swipes through her phone aimlessly. Glancing around, there are some other RAs from other buildings on campus, and a few assorted students who also moved in early for training, but no other East Hall staff members have made it down to breakfast yet. Nini glances at her watch. Twenty minutes until they have to be at their first session. She carries her plate of battered fruit to Gina’s table. 

“Mind if I sit?” she asks pleasantly. 

Gina looks up, startled, but her expression quickly changes into a smile. “Be my guest,” she gestures to the empty seat across the table, sliding her mug closer toward her to make room. 

Nini drops into the seat and begins to push around a mushy piece of cantaloupe. “You’re not eating?” she asks. 

Gina snorts. “Are you kidding? The coffee’s about the only thing here I can stomach. And even that’s a stretch.” 

Nini giggles. “My thoughts exactly. Like, doesn’t it bother anyone that there are no nutrition or ingredient labels on anything?” 

Gina makes a face and tucks her phone into the pocket of her exercise pants. “That’s because nobody would buy a meal plan if they knew what was in the food,” she says. “Pretty sure the turkey bacon is actually pigeon.” 

“No,” Nini laughs, “pigeon isn’t dry enough. I bet it’s seagull. Or maybe vulture.” 

They lapse into silence as she spears a single chunk of pineapple and slips it into her mouth, puckering at its sourness. Gina drops her gaze into the depths of her coffee, running her finger along the rim of her mug. 

“So I was thinking,” Nini breaks in, trying to fill the quiet, “since Seb and I are sort of mentoring you, maybe we could show you how to do rounds tonight? It’s really easy.”

“That would be great,” Gina smiles easily, lifting her coffee mug to her lips and taking a sip, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the rim. 

“Great,” Nini returns her smile, her gaze straying to the dining hall entrance as EJ walks in. She lifts her arm to wave him over, then sees Ricky follow him in and diverts course, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. 

She watches as the two of them approach the hot food section. Ricky piles his plate with gelatinous scrambled eggs and shriveled sausage links, and the two of them grab a table across the room. Ricky squirts half the bottle of ketchup over his eggs and tucks into them with gusto, and she can’t help but wrinkle her nose in disgust - not just over the food, but the way he eats it like he’s been starving for days. 

Ten minutes before their first session starts, the two girls rise from the table and take their dishes to the conveyor belt so that they can be washed. Nini’s plate is still half-full of uneaten fruit, and she covers the leftovers with her napkin in embarrassment. 

“Looks like our first session is about student conduct,” Gina murmurs, looping a string bag over her shoulders and glancing at the schedule in her hand. 

“Mmm,” Nini hums distractedly, her gaze falling once more to EJ and Ricky. Her co has gotten up for seconds already, and she wonders how he could possibly stomach it.

“Nini! Gina!” EJ calls. 

Ricky turns in his seat and spots the two of them. Nini can’t tell if it’s a smirk or a grimace that crosses his face. Her feet carry her forward, following Gina before she’s fully aware of what she’s doing. 

“Sit down,” EJ invites, “join us.” 

“Actually, we just ate,” Gina says. “We’re about to head to the first session.” 

Ricky frowns, glancing at his phone. “We’ve got, like, seventeen minutes,” he protests. 

“Seven, actually,” Nini cuts in. “Ten minutes early is right on time, remember?” 

“Seriously?” Ricky rolls his eyes and stabs at another sausage link with his fork.

EJ looks between the two co’s with a smirk of amusement. “Okay,” he draws out the word. “Nini’s got a point, though. We should probably get a move on.” 

“We’ll see you over there,” Gina says. “Don’t be late, boys,” she pokes EJ on the shoulder teasingly as she walks past. Nini follows after her out the door. 

* * *

Ricky walks into the lecture hall with four minutes to spare.  _ Eat it, Nini. I’m still on time _ . He surveys the assembled RAs, sitting in clusters at desks arranged in a semicircle around a podium and a series of pull-down projector screens, all displaying the same title slide against a dark blue background:

STUDENT CONDUCT GUIDELINES: A HANDBOOK FOR STUDENT LEADERS

PRESENTER: DR. KALYANI PATEL, DEAN OF STUDENTS FOR CONDUCT 

He spots the rest of his coworkers on the far side of the room, sitting in the front row. Seb swivels in his seat on the end, and Gina sits right beside him. There is an empty seat between her and Ashlyn. EJ is seated on his cousin’s other side, and Nini bookends the East Hall delegation. A yellow steno pad sits open in front of her, turned to a fresh page, and two pens - one blue and one black - are lined up beside it. 

“Hey, you made it!” Ashlyn greets as he approaches, her amber eyes bright. “We saved you a seat.” 

“Thanks,” Ricky says, dropping into the empty chair. “And look,” he says, a little louder than necessary. “I’m still on time!” Nini’s look of irritation is well worth it, and he swivels around to face forward, thoroughly satisfied. He finds himself face-to-face with Dean Patel.

She stands in front of him; her posture is rigid as ever, and her navy blazer is immaculately pressed. “Do my eyes deceive me?” she questions with a faint trace of an accent. “This can’t be Ricky Bowen.” An amused smirk plays at her lips.

“Hey, Dean P,” he straightens up. 

“Apparently res life will hire anyone these days,” she says in a joking tone that belies her stiff demeanor. 

Ricky grins back. “Well, you know,” he shrugs. “I decided I wanted to be a model citizen after all.” 

Dean Patel rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Is it too much to hope that our many talks played a part in that?” 

“What can I say? You changed me.”

The woman sighs. “I better not see your name cross my desk again, Ricky,” she says. “Not unless you’ve been nominated for an award. You’re a student leader, now. The expectations are much higher.” 

“Promise,” Ricky says. 

“Good,” she nods, turning on her heel and making her way toward the podium. 

Ashlyn turns to Ricky. “You and Dean Patel know each other?” 

“Yeah,” he snorts. “We’ve met a few times.”

“That’s…not usually a good thing,” the redhead notes.

“It wasn’t,” he confirms. “I got busted at a couple of parties. Oh, and one time, me and my roommate built a skate ramp off the second floor of the parking deck.” 

“That was you?” Seb breaks in. “You guys stole my parking space!” 

Nini rolls her eyes on the other end of the row and turns to EJ. “How the hell did Ricky even get hired? Aren’t RAs supposed to have a spotless conduct record?” 

“I got written up once freshman year,” he replies with a shrug. 

“Really?” She turns to face him incredulously.

He nods intently. “Look, Neens, just give the kid a chance, okay? He’s really not so bad.” 

She releases a measured breath, grateful that Dean Patel has begun speaking so that she doesn’t have to respond. 

* * *

Seb types out a text to Carlos as they trudge slowly out of the lecture hall. 

_ How’s it going so far _ ?

_ Aren’t you supposed to be in a session? _

_ We just got out. I have 15 minutes till my next one. And you didn’t answer my question! _

_ It’s ok _ .

Seb frowns at his phone. The tone of the texts is all wrong. Carlos never ends his texts with a period, and he’s never this terse, either. Something tells him it’s not the rec center training that’s putting him on edge. How nerve-wracking could sitting at the swipe-in desk and replenishing towels be, after all? 

He thought his boyfriend was doing better after they’d helped each other unpack their respective rooms last night. He’d even turned down Seb’s offer to stay the night, opting instead to return to his own room. Evidently, Carlos’s acting talents are not confined to the stage. 

EJ’s voice pulls him from his thoughts and his phone. “You alright?”

“Huh?” Seb blinks. “Yeah.” 

“You look worried,” the senior notes. 

“Just...Carlos,” he shakes his head.

“Oh,” EJ nods. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Seb’s eyes widen. “No, it’s not like relationship drama or anything,” he says quickly. “Just...I think he’s anxious, that’s all.” He wants to say more. He wants to ask EJ to keep an eye on Carlos, because he knows he will. But Carlos made him swear not to. The last thing he wanted was special treatment. “New job and all, and plus it’s junior year now, so…” He trails off, acutely aware that he’s babbling at this point. 

EJ arches an eyebrow doubtfully, but he nods anyway. “Well, if he needs anything, let him know that I’m always there for him. All he has to do is come find me. You, too,” he nudges the blond lightly. 

Seb forces a smile. “Thanks.” 

He plants himself between Ashlyn and Gina at their next session and pretends to take notes as Jenn clicks through her bright pink slide show on programs and events.

“Remember,” Jenn says as the presentation comes to an end, “the most important thing is to be true to yourselves and your community when developing programs. Celebrate what makes you unique, and what makes your floor special.” 

* * *

After lunch, Nini is the first to arrive for their third session of the day. 

DRUG AND ALCOHOL AMNESTY POLICY

PRESENTER: ERNESTO GUTIERREZ, DIRECTOR OF STUDENT SAFETY

She reaches into her bag and pulls out her notepad, drawing a line to section off her notes from the previous session. She copies the presentation title underneath, then preemptively draws a bullet point. She’s reasonably sure that if she flips back a few dozen pages, she’ll find her notes from the exact same presentation last year. She doubts much has changed. It’s pretty straightforward, after all. If someone’s health is in jeopardy due to consuming drugs or alcohol, they or someone with them can call for help without risk of getting in trouble. 

“I would rather send a hundred ambulances and see a hundred kids get their stomachs pumped at the hospital than see even one student taken out in a body bag,” Director Gutierrez had said at last year’s presentation. It’s a good policy. A fair one. And even though she knows the ins and outs of it by now, she figures it’s worth reiterating and taking notes on again. 

“Ugh,” Ricky groans as he drops into a seat beside her and reads the title slide. “Drug and alcohol amnesty?” 

She exhales slowly, clenching her pen a little tighter in her hand. “Problem?” she asks, her voice a few notches higher than usual as she turns to face her co. 

“Hmm?” Ricky glances at her like he’s just realized she’s there. “No problem,” he shakes his head, then slumps a little further in his seat. “It’s just a snooze-fest, that’s all.” 

For a moment, Nini wonders if Ricky’s ever had to take advantage of this policy for himself or someone else. She opens her mouth to ask, then thinks better of it.  _ Don’t ask a question if you aren’t sure you want to hear the answer _ . She settles for an indignant eyeroll, then adds, “This policy has saved lives before, Ricky. I wouldn’t be so nonchalant about it.” 

“I’m just saying. It’s literally a two-paragraph policy. They couldn’t just make us read it?” He shrugs as Director Gutierrez begins speaking. The slides are identical to the ones used last year. Nevertheless, Nini takes detailed notes and pointedly ignores Ricky until his head dips and she realizes he’s actually fallen asleep.  _ Unbelievable.  _

* * *

By the time the last session of the day rolls around, Ricky practically has to drag himself through the building. It’s only a one-hour time difference from Chicago, and he’s never felt it before. But something about being in a vast, empty room in a vast, empty building by himself - sheets pulled up to his neck to shield against the persistent cold - made it impossible to sleep last night. He isn’t sure exactly what caused it: the frigid temperature, the eerie silence of too many empty dorm rooms between him and Big Red, or the dawning realization that he’s in way over his head with all this RA stuff. Maybe all three. Either way, he’s running on less than three hours of sleep and the prospect of returning to his room, continuing to unpack, and finishing his door tags is enough to exhaust him. He strongly considers asking EJ to show him how to do rounds another night.

A reedy-looking woman with sandy curls stands at the front of the room. She wears a dusty brown cardigan and a long, flowy skirt, a pair of frameless glasses perched on her nose. She makes eye contact with him as he enters, smiling and nodding in greeting. For a moment, Ricky wonders if he’s met her somewhere before, but as he takes a seat in the back row, he realizes she’s greeting everyone this way. The itinerary proclaims her to be Dr. Alexis Steinway from the Counseling Services Center, giving a presentation entitled “Responding to Mental Health Needs: Your Own and Others.” 

It should be another easy-to-sleep-through presentation. Maybe he’ll even catch up so that he won’t be so fatigued tomorrow. But something about the presentation tells him he should pay attention. Maybe it’s the way Dr. Steinway made deliberate eye contact with him when he walked in. Or maybe it’s the handouts making their way around the lecture hall, ensuring he needs to be awake enough to participate.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Dr. Steinway begins when everyone is seated. Her voice pours out over them, warm, gentle, and even. She introduces herself and the Counseling Services Center. “Today, I’m here to talk to you about mental health. And I don’t just mean responding to students in crisis, although that is a very important part of your training as RAs. I’m also talking about your own mental health.” 

Ricky’s heart skips a beat. He can’t be certain since he’s sitting three rows back, but from this angle, it looks almost like Dr. Steinway is making direct eye contact with him. Or maybe it’s just the glare from her glasses. 

“Before we get to the part of the session where we talk about responding to others in crisis, I’d like to start a little closer to home. You should have a piece of paper in front of you. This is what we call a self-report inventory. Answer the questions as honestly as possible. Afterwards, we’ll go over scoring and what your score might indicate. Now, it’s important to note that this isn’t a diagnosis. It’s just a snapshot of where you’re at right now, and it might give you some ideas of what you need to work on. I’ll give you some time now to complete the survey.” 

Ricky scans the paper. It consists of a series of true and false statements, along with a few questions that ask him to rank things on a scale of zero to five based on how accurately they apply to his life. He wets his lips as he picks up his pencil in his left hand and hovers over question one.

_ True/False: I often experience restlessness, shaking, or repetitive behaviors (e.g. tapping fingers, bouncing legs).  _

He frowns at the question, then tentatively pencils in a  _ T  _ for true. His eyes dart down the rest of the page, reading each statement. 

_ True/False: I actively avoid negative or intrusive thoughts by distracting myself.  _

_ True/False: I believe most people my age are more successful, or will be more successful, than me.  _

_ On a scale of 0 - 5 with 0 being never and 5 being almost always, how often do you worry about your future? _

_ On a scale of 0 - 5 with 0 being never and 5 being almost always, how often do you have trouble sleeping?  _

They continue down the page this way, and he suddenly feels the urge to put the pencil down and stop answering the questions altogether. It’s not like Dr. Steinway would know, and it’s not like she can force him to answer it even if she finds out. But morbid curiosity gets the better of him, and he finds himself filling out the survey completely. 

When everyone is finished, Dr. Steinway asks them to set the inventory aside and continues with her presentation. She reviews where the Counseling Services Center is located and provides a list of phone numbers, emails, and resources that the center provides. She goes over what to do if they encounter a person in crisis: who to call and how to keep the person calm, don’t panic, don’t be overly insistent, ask questions and reflect back to the person to show you’re listening. Speak calmly. Call the center or a supervisor as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Try to convince the person to see someone at counseling services, and walk them over if you can. Don’t hesitate to call a supervisor for help if needed. There’s even a staffed 24-hour hotline they can call to get live help from a counselor. It seems like common sense. But Ricky realizes that he never would’ve actually considered what to do in a situation like this if he hadn’t attended the presentation. 

“Lastly, don’t forget that you have help. Your supervisors, your coworkers, and all of us at counseling services have your back. We run group sessions every Wednesday from two to four for student leaders. It’s a place for you to gather with other people who understand what you’re experiencing, and to share your thoughts in a confidential space. Now, on to the moment you’ve all been waiting for. I would like you all to tally up the numbers from your responses on the survey, and then take a look up here at this slide to see what your answers might indicate. Remember that this isn’t an actual diagnosis. Think of it as food for thought.” 

Ricky adds up the numbers on his paper, tapping the end of his pencil against the desk absent-mindedly. Finally, he looks up at the slide and finds his range. 

_ 25 - 30: Your score indicates potentially high anxiety and stress. Come visit the Counseling Services Center if you’d like to talk about some strategies for coping with stress and anxiety! _

He can’t help the short, bitter laugh that escapes his throat, and he’s grateful that he’s in the back row. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s under a lot of stress. After all, he just moved himself halfway across the country  _ again  _ and started a brand new job that’s way more than he bargained for, paired up with a control freak co who can’t stand his guts for god-knows-what-reason, and on top of that, he can’t sleep in a cold, empty, echoing building. What could he possibly be anxious about? 

When the presentation ends, they are dismissed to head to the dining hall for dinner. Ricky spots EJ milling about outside the lecture hall and hurries to catch up with him. “Hey,” he says breathlessly.

“Hey,” EJ returns warmly. “You going to dinner?” 

“I guess,” Ricky shrugs. “It’s mandatory, right?” 

The older boy laughs. “Technically. Not that everyone always goes. Wanna walk over together? I’m just waiting for the others to catch up.” 

“Sure,” Ricky smiles.  _ At least I’ve got one friend on staff. Or sort-of-friend. _

* * *

Dinner consists of three protein options, all drier than sawdust and slowly warming under heat lamps, soggy green beans that are turning gray from overcooking, a salad with brown-spotted lettuce, and mealy mashed potatoes. Ashlyn sifts through the salad, plucking out the non-deflated tomatoes and the greenest looking leaves and depositing them on her plate. 

“Sweetheart, you can’t subsist on just salad,” Jenn says, strolling up behind her in the line. 

The redhead makes a face. “Well, it’s just about the only vegan thing here,” she says. “Even the green beans have bacon bits in them.” 

Jenn tuts. “Seriously? I  _ told  _ them we had dietary concerns on staff. They  _ promised  _ me there would be vegan options. You know what? Dump that sad, soggy salad. When we get back to the building, I’ll order you whatever you want and charge it to the res life card.” The woman huffs indignantly, then scoots past Ashlyn to spoon some of the green beans disdainfully onto her plate. 

Ricky hadn’t realized he was hungry until he smelled food. He slides a piece of chicken onto his plate, then adds a second piece for good measure, heaping it on top of the mashed potatoes before precariously depositing a scoop of green beans along the edge of his plate. He follows EJ to a table and sits. He’s about to start a conversation when the older boy starts waving toward the entrance. 

“Nini!” he calls.

Ricky twists around and looks at his co. Her face brightens when she spots EJ, and for once, it doesn’t immediately sour when she sees him.  _ Progress _ . The brunette saunters over toward the table.

“Come sit with us,” EJ invites. He cuts a glance at Ricky, who does his best to feign excitement at the prospect of Nini joining them for dinner. 

“Thanks,” she says breezily. Her gaze darts to Ricky briefly as she loops the strap of her bag over the back of a chair. “I’m gonna go get food,” she gestures toward the line. “Be right back.” 

Ricky lets out a breath as soon as Nini is out of earshot. If EJ notices, he doesn’t let on. His first instinct is to be annoyed with the senior. Of all the people he could have invited to sit with them, it had to be the one who openly despises him? He suspects it was deliberate, and not just because EJ and Nini seem to be good friends.

“So, how was your last first day of training?” Nini asks EJ when she returns with half a piece of chicken and a dry salad.

He grimaces, swallowing a mouthful of salmon. “Don’t remind me that it’s my last first day,” he says. “It doesn’t feel real.” 

“Aw, come on,” she says encouragingly. “This is exciting! Just think about all the presentations you won’t ever have to sit through again.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, and I won’t ever have to take a psych inventory that tells me I have ‘indications of high levels of stress’ again, either.” 

Ricky frowns. He never expected EJ, of all people, to have high levels of stress. In fact, he’d kind of just assumed EJ had scored a 0 on the inventory. What could he have to worry about, after all? He seems well-liked, he’s nice enough, and he’s pretty goddamn beautiful, too. He nibbles on a piece of chicken thoughtfully.

“Ugh, I’m with you on the stress. They told me opinions editor would be a straightforward job, but I’m beginning to think that’s only because the last editor had no clue what he was doing,” Nini says. “Like, did you ever notice that it was basically the same four people sending in their opinions every week last year?” 

“Honestly? No,” EJ admits, reaching for his glass of water. “But I didn’t really care about the opinions column then. I’m definitely gonna read it now that you’re in charge.” 

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says,” Nini sighs. “I really hope this recruitment initiative pays off. I need some more perspectives in the paper if I’m gonna land a  _ New York Times  _ internship in the spring.” 

“You know, my dad knows a couple of people at the  _ Times _ ,” EJ puts in, setting his glass down. “I could ask him to put in a good word.” 

“Really?” Nini’s eyes widen. 

“Yeah, why not?” the senior shrugs. “He got me hooked up with an internship in the City. He could probably get you hooked up, too. It’s about the only thing he’s good for, most days…” 

Whatever EJ’s alluding to, Ricky gets the sense that Nini understands. All he can glean is that he and his dad aren’t on great terms. He wants to say something, to add that he gets what it’s like to have a complicated relationship with a parent. He wants to be involved in the discussion. But by the time he can formulate a sentence, his dinner companions have moved on from the topic. 

“Yeah, so I’m hoping to get the reforms put in place before we start the pledging process for the fall,” EJ says. “I want Gamma Pi to be an example, you know? Proof that frats can actually be inclusive and not so...fratty.”

“That’s great, EJ,” Nini replies. “Who knows? Maybe the rest of Greek life will follow your lead.” 

Ricky glances down at his plate. The half-eaten chicken suddenly looks a lot less appetizing, and he realizes he’s mostly been shoving mashed potatoes around for the last twenty minutes. He doesn’t have anything to contribute. He isn’t in any clubs or organizations, unless skateboarding with Big Red counts. He doesn’t have an internship lined up, or even any clue how to go about finding one. All he has is this job and the feeling that he’s way out of his depth in the company of people like EJ Caswell and Nini Salazar-Roberts. He finishes his dinner in silence and mumbles an excuse to leave.

* * *

_ Gonna show Ricky how to do rounds tonight. Meet in the lobby in 10? _

Ricky glances at the group chat EJ started with him and Ashlyn. He named it “Caswells’ Prodigy.” 

_ Yeah see you soon,  _ he writes back, and resumes towel-drying his hair. He sifts through his half-unpacked suitcase for a fresh set of clothes and throws them on just as his phone chimes again with a reply from Ashlyn.

_ Sorry guys. Gonna have to raincheck. Finishing a paper for my summer course.  _ The text is punctuated with a tired-face emoji. 

Ricky meets EJ at the check-in desk fifteen minutes later. The senior has changed into a black t-shirt that advertises the  _ Monroe Greek Life Day of Service _ and a pair of red basketball shorts. He waves him behind the desk. 

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” he says. He reaches onto the desk and passes Ricky a silver flip phone. The device is heavy and reinforced on all sides by black rubber, looking more like a weapon for self-defense than a phone. 

“What’s this?” Ricky asks, flipping it open. The wallpaper is a generic photo of the front of East Hall. 

“Duty phone,” EJ says. “You’ll have to pick it up every night you’re on shift. If something happens during the night, you’ll get a call from the front desk.” 

The younger boy turns the phone over in his hand. “What happens if I don’t hear it?” 

“Trust me,” the senior laughs. “You’ll hear it. That thing could wake the dead.” He starts off toward the stairwell, Ricky following close behind. “So you’ll have to do rounds at least two times every night you’re on duty. You gotta do them in pairs, so make sure you link up with someone else who’s on with you that night. Basically you just have to sweep the whole building. We’ll start on the top floor and work our way down.” 

“What are we looking for?” Ricky frowns. He never really bothered to consider what RAs did when they were on duty. He just knew there was always someone on-call to respond to incidents. He’d met plenty when they showed up to break up parties. 

EJ shrugs. “Anything that’s wrong. Damaged furniture in the lounges, people being too loud after quiet hours… Basically, just make sure everyone’s being safe and respectful. And don’t go looking for trouble. Trust me, it’ll find you.” 

They arrive on the top floor, and EJ leads them down his wing. The hallway is identical to Ricky’s - empty, brightly-lit, lined with the same low-pile, gray carpet. There are no door tags up, he notices. “So what do I do if someone’s being too loud?” he questions. 

“You knock,” his mentor answers. “Ask them to turn it down. And if they don’t, then you write them up and send it in an email for Ben and Jenn to deal with. But most times, people don’t even know how loud they’re being. If you just let them know, they’ll quiet down.” 

Ricky nods thoughtfully. He wonders if his music was too loud last night, and if anyone heard it. Nobody knocked.

“And,” EJ adds with a conspiratorial smirk, “if they don’t hear you knocking with your hand, you can always use the duty phone.” 

The younger boy glances down at the flip phone in his hand doubtfully. “Really?”

“Why do you think they’re reinforced?” the senior says. “Watch.” He holds his hand out and Ricky passes the phone over to him. The older boy approaches an unoccupied room, brandishes the phone, and bangs rapidly on the door with the rubber edge. It produces a startlingly-loud  _ thump thump thump  _ that echoes through the empty room and reverberates back out into the hall, making Ricky jump in the process. “Don’t let Ben find out, though,” EJ adds, handing the phone back with a satisfied smirk. “He’ll lecture you about how the phones are ‘department property and must be treated with respect at all times.’” 

He may not have been sure what to think about rounds when he started, but by the time they’ve made it to the second floor, Ricky has made up his mind. Rounds seem pointlessly dull. All they’ve done is walk up and down empty hallways, pretending to keep an eye out for damages that they both know don’t exist yet. He can’t imagine why they need to do this in pairs, except to have someone to talk to. 

“So what made you apply to be an RA, anyway?” EJ asks as they pass through the three-hundred wing. He can hear Big Red’s tennis ball thumping against the floor as they pass his room. 

Ricky shrugs, sizing the older boy up as he walks ahead of him. He tries to force nonchalance into his tone. “You know, free housing. I get my own room. I can bring girls and guys back anytime I want. And if I know all the other RAs, I can’t get in trouble at parties,” he adds with a smirk. 

EJ sighs and shakes his head good-naturedly.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” the older boy responds. “Just…You didn’t seem like that type of guy.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The type of guy that only does it for the free housing or a get-out-of-conduct-free card.”

Ricky frowns and wonders what he means by that. “Well, why’d you do it?” 

“For the leadership experience, mostly,” EJ answers. They pass through the lounge that separates the three-hundred and four-hundred wings. The air conditioning kicks on, rumbling loudly through the empty space. The study room lights are off. “I wanna run my own company one day,” he continues as they step into Nini’s hallway. Her door tags are already up: carefully drawn crests of all four Hogwarts houses alternating their way up and down the wing. “This felt like a good first step. Besides, I like helping people, and that’s what being an RA’s all about in the end.” 

Ricky lets out a noncommittal noise, too embarrassed to admit that EJ’s reasons are a lot better than his. And probably a lot closer to the real reasons he applied to be an RA in the first place. His answer was dumb, and he can’t figure out why he even said it in the first place. “Oh, yeah,” he mumbles. “That’s pretty great, too.” 

* * *

“I didn’t even know they made phones like this anymore,” Gina says, weighing the duty phone in her palm and marveling at how heavy it is. She’s pretty sure she could break a window with it if she threw it hard enough.

“Right?” Seb agrees. “I thought they were garage door openers the first time I saw them.” 

“You might wanna disinfect them when you go on duty,” Nini advises as they make their way along the first floor. “We’re a pretty clean bunch here, but you never know.” She periodically looks up and down, inspecting the walls for any damage and making notes on her clipboard. As they approach the end of the hall, she hears Seb call out in surprise. 

“Fancy meeting you here!” 

“I was just showing Ricky how to do rounds,” EJ responds, standing at the head of the hallway. 

“Us, too,” Seb says. “With Gina, I mean.” 

“Take good care of my co, now,” he admonishes playfully. 

“Your co?” Seb says in an exaggeratedly hurt voice, pulling Gina closer. “She’s  _ our  _ child!” 

Nini approaches the group and leans against the wall. She feels her grip tighten on her clipboard as soon as Ricky’s gaze lands on her. His expression morphs into a lazy, lopsided smirk when he spots what’s in her hands, and she can already hear the snarky remark before it’s even left his lips.  _ God, I could kill him! _

“What’s the clipboard for?” he asks. “Writing citations to all the empty rooms in the building?” 

“It’s a good habit to get into, Ricky,” she replies primly. “You never know when you’ll encounter an incident, and you’ll need to take good notes for the report. If you know how to write, that is.” 

“You wound me,” he deadpans. 

She resists the urge to smack the smirk off his lips as she saunters past. “If you’ll excuse us, we still have a whole building to sweep.” 

“Yeah, us too,” Ricky replies. “We’re all about the work.” 

“Don’t damage my building!” Nini calls over her shoulder. “I might have to write you up.” 

Gina and Seb exchange glances before heading off after her. “So what’s up with you and Nini?” EJ questions when he’s certain the others are out of earshot.

Ricky plays dumb. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I’ve never seen two people hate each other this much.” 

“I don’t hate her,” the younger boy insists. “We just don’t work well together. She’s a control freak.” 

EJ laughs. “Yeah,” he nods in acquiescence. “Yeah, she can be. But she means well, Ricky. And besides, she’s got plenty of great qualities, too.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” 

“I am. And I would know. We used to date.” 

Ricky’s eyes snap to EJ.  _ He used to date  _ Nini? He can’t imagine why EJ Caswell would ever want to date someone like her. Sure, they seemed to get along fine at dinner, and they definitely have a lot in common. But still. EJ’s laidback, cool even. Nini is anything but. “You...and Nini…?” It’s all he can manage to get out. 

EJ laughs again. “Yup. For a few months, anyway. But we realized we’re better off as friends.” 

Ricky frowns. He’d heard of amicable breakups before, but up until now he hadn’t totally believed in them. And while he’s had more hookups than exes, none of those ever ended on good terms, either, and he hasn’t spoken to any of them since. 

“I’m just saying,” EJ says as they reach the end of the hall. He pulls open the stairwell door and holds it for Ricky to enter. “Nini’s really great if you give her a chance.” 

The younger boy scoffs. “Couldn’t I just trade floors with Gina? This way, you and I could be co’s.” 

“Nice try,” EJ shakes his head. 

* * *

“So, are co-RA relationships always so...antagonistic?” Gina asks, hustling to keep up with Nini’s brisk pace as they move through her hall. “Because EJ and I are getting along great, and I’m honestly kinda scared that it’s not gonna last.” 

“What are you talking about?” Nini asks without breaking stride. 

“I just mean that you and Ricky are kinda…what’s the word?” 

“Mortal enemies?” Seb supplies.

Nini stops dead in the middle of the hall and releases a measured breath, turning on her heel to face her coworkers with creased brows. “Ricky and I are not enemies,” she says haltingly. “And we’re not antagonistic. We’re just… Not a good match,” she says. “He’s way too cavalier about everything. The important thing to remember is that a good co always pulls their weight. Just do that and I’m sure you and EJ will be fine.” 

Seb arches an eyebrow. “Well, maybe you aren’t giving Ricky a fair chance to pull his own weight,” he suggests gently. 

“What do you mean?” she protests. “Did you see him during the drugs and alcohol amnesty policy session? He was  _ literally  _ asleep! Dean Patel knows him by name. And he doesn’t even have his door tags up yet!” 

Gina exchanges glances with Seb, then turns her gaze back to Nini. “Look, Nini, I already did my door tags, too. But they aren’t technically due till the night before move-in. EJ hasn’t done his yet, either. Maybe we’re just overachievers.” 

Nini looks between Seb and her mentee. Her expression softens, and she lets out a short, self-conscious laugh at her own ridiculousness. “Are you sure you and Ricky can’t just trade floors?” she asks Gina half-jokingly.

“I’m sure,” Gina laughs. 

“You know,” Seb suggests, “if you and Ricky are having trouble getting on the same page, you should just talk to him. That’s what Ashlyn and I do whenever we don’t agree on something for our floor, and it always works out fine in the end. We usually find a compromise.” 

“I don’t know,” Nini shakes her head doubtfully. “I have my way of doing things, and Ricky has his. Maybe it’s better if we just stay in our lanes and find our own ways to thrive.”

The blond shrugs. “Whatever you think will work best.” He starts walking again, and Gina falls into step beside him. Nini watches their retreating backs for a moment before following after them. A brief spark of resentment flares within her, but she tamps it down quickly. Even so, it lingers in her mind a moment after.  _ Isn’t Gina supposed to be the one in training here? And aren’t I supposed to be the one teaching her?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time! Those duty phones? Yeah, very real. They were these military-grade Kyocera phones that you could literally drop out of a fourth floor window without causing any damage, and they were LOUD as heck because they needed to wake us up in the middle of the night if something happened. We used to abuse those things so much haha. We would literally bang on doors with them if people's music was too loud to hear our knocking. It was also a favorite staff pastime to take unflattering pictures of each other with them and set them as the wallpaper. 
> 
> Rounds worked very similar to the way they're described here. I worked in one of the largest buildings on campus, so we had 4 RAs on call each night and did rounds in pairs. 
> 
> The co system was also a thing, of course. Each RA was paired up with the person on the opposite wing on their floor. My first year co and I had VERY different approaches to our job. We got along well enough, but I was glad when in the following two years, I was put on a floor that had no opposite wing, meaning I could basically plan whatever themes and events I wanted. Lastly, the mentoring system was also a thing in my building. I had a total of 4 mentees over my career. 1 of them got fired for a bullshit reason. 1 of them turned out to be a really mean person who straight-up tried to cyberbully one of my friends. They also tried to cyberbully me, but I shut that down pretty fast. Long story lol. 1 of my mentees quit to pursue their acting dreams. And 1 was an absolute superstar in the job who probably taught me a lot more than I taught them. 
> 
> Okay, so that's the rundown for this chapter. Lots more to come! Have a safe, happy New Year and here's to a peaceful, hopeful 2021.


	3. Behind Closed Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So 2021 is off to an interesting start? Maybe interesting is the wrong word. It's off to an absolutely unhinged start. But I had this finished and proofread, so I figured now's the time to post it. I could use the distraction from everything taking place right now, and maybe some of you can, too. I hope you're staying safe out there, and taking care of yourselves, and I'm always available over at tumblr for anyone who needs to chat. Anyway, without further ado, chapter 3!

_ Live Simulations.  _ The name alone sounds intimidating, but the prospect of what she’s in for terrifies Gina even more. She reads and rereads the itinerary, as if a million new training sessions and panel discussions and workshops will appear. They don’t. It’s the last day of RA training, and live simulations are the only thing on the schedule. 

“Okay, I’m getting concerned,” Seb’s voice interrupts her concentration. She looks up to find him staring at her with a gentle smile, a spoonful of Frosted Flakes arrested halfway to his lips. “If you keep staring at that paper, you’re gonna go cross-eyed,” he says. “What gives?” 

“Nothing,” she shakes her head and lifts her coffee mug to her lips. The coffee has long since gone cold, but she takes a sip anyway and grimaces. 

“Look, I know it sounds scary,” Seb says, nodding toward the paper. “I practically peed myself going into live sims last year. But it’s really not so bad.” 

“Yeah,” Gina says, doing her best to sound convinced even though she isn’t. It’s easy for Seb to say. He already survived live sims, and this year, he gets to act out the scenarios that she’ll be responding to. 

The blond reaches across the table and rests a reassuring hand over hers. “I mean it,” he says. “Just remember. We aren’t trying to trip you up. It’s just that sometimes, there’s no better way to prepare for a situation than to do it. It’s just practice.”

Gina smiles like his words reassured her. It makes sense in theory. All the presentations and handouts in the world won’t make up for actual experience dealing with incidents. But Seb’s wrong about it not being a test. Everything’s a test, no matter how much everyone tries to deny it. She may not be getting a grade on her performance in the live scenarios, but her response will tell everyone around her just how prepared - or unprepared - she is for this job. And it’ll tell her, too. She lifts her mug and downs the rest of her coffee in one gulp. She’s going to pass this test. There’s no point in trying if she can’t be the best.

Nini appears at the table a minute later. “Morning!” she chirps. 

“Hey,” Seb greets. “I was just hyping Gina up for live sims today. It’s not so bad, right?” 

“Not at all,” Nini says reassuringly, dragging an empty chair from a nearby table and dropping into it. “Don’t get me wrong, I had major anxiety going into it, but by the time it was over, I felt much better. You’re gonna do fine!” 

“Thanks,” Gina murmurs, but in the back of her mind, she really wishes Nini hadn’t set an expectation already. 

* * *

Ricky sits in one of the bolt-upright chairs in the lobby of Westside Hall, one leg crossed over the other. His ankle bounces repeatedly, and he drums his fingers at his side. The orange fabric is uncomfortably itchy. He looks up and manages a tight-lipped smile at the blonde girl sitting across from him. He’s not sure what building she’s from, but she somehow manages to look even more nervous than he feels. 

Gina sits two seats over, engrossed in her phone, but judging by how quickly she’s scrolling, she can’t be reading anything. The rest of the staff is nowhere to be found, just as he figured. They’re probably sequestered in different rooms around Westside, setting up whatever scenarios they’re going to unleash upon him, Gina, and the other new hires. It almost feels like hazing. 

“I’m sorry, could you just, like, stop?” the blonde girl requests. It takes Ricky a moment to realize she’s talking to him. 

“Hmm?” 

“The tapping,” the girl says, smiling appeasingly. “It’s just...kinda making my anxiety worse.” 

“Oh.” Ricky stills his fingers, gripping the sides of the chair to keep them from starting up again. “Yeah, sorry,” he says sheepishly.

Ben enters a moment later, his dress shoes - polished to a high shine - click across the floor in a steady staccato. He pauses in front of Ricky and Gina, clasping his hands before him. He stands like a drill instructor. Or maybe a drum major in a marching band. Ricky can’t decide. “You two ready?” the man asks, his mustache twitching in an approximation of a reassuring smile. 

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Ricky answers for the both of them, and judging by Gina’s expression, he figures it’s an accurate statement. 

“Excellent,” Ben says. “The two of you will work together for the live simulations. Treat these as if you were encountering them in the course of your job. The experienced RAs will be acting, and some of it may seem...over-the-top...but they’re doing it for your benefit. Don’t hesitate to ask them as many questions as you want during the debrief.” 

Jenn appears at his side, so quickly that Ricky is barely able to process her presence before she begins speaking. “And remember,” she says, “if things become too intense, it’s perfectly okay to say ‘time out.’ The point is to prepare you, not traumatize you.” 

“Any questions?” Ben asks. 

“Oh!” Jenn interrupts. “And remember, it’s not a test. You’re not going to get in trouble if you do something wrong. We want you to make mistakes here instead of on the job.” 

“Any questions?” Ben repeats. 

“Oh! And also,” Jenn begins.

“Jenn,” Ben cuts in, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder placatingly. “Why don’t you go check on the rooms? Make sure the scenarios are set up and the actors are ready?” 

“Right,” the woman nods. 

“Any questions?” Ben asks for the third time. Ricky and Gina shake their heads. “Excellent. As soon as Jenn gives the go-ahead, we’ll head up to the first scenario.” 

* * *

Ricky can hear the music blaring all the way down the hall, a Post Malone song with the bass boosted to excess. The floor vibrates as he and Gina approach the door, Ben leading them. He can hear laughing and shouting from within the room. It’s an all-too-familiar sound, but for the first time, Ricky finds himself on the opposite side of this situation. Busting the party instead of being busted. 

“Scenario,” Ben begins, his voice all but drowned out by the music. He clears his throat and speaks louder, reading from a paper in his hand. “Scenario one. Large party. You and your duty partner have received a call about a loud room. As you approach, you hear excessively loud music and many voices behind the door.” A loud whoop punctuates the statement, and Ben blinks before continuing. “It is after quiet hours, and you have reason to believe that the room is occupied beyond capacity. When you’re ready, you may proceed.”

He stands aside. Ricky exchanges a glance with Gina.  _ That’s it? Just proceed?  _ There are no further instructions, and despite all the training on the student code of conduct, his mind goes blank. He looks to Ben, expecting his supervisor to jump in at any moment with some last-minute guidance, but the man simply stands impassively, arms folded across his chest. He hesitates until Gina’s voice snaps him out of it. 

“I’ll knock,” she says. “When we get inside, start asking for student IDs and documenting people.” Her voice is calm and even, commanding and confident, and Ricky finds himself nodding along. His head swims and his feet carry him to the door right behind Gina. She raps on the door firmly. “Res life,” she announces. A few thumps and muffled  _ shhh _ ’s. The music continues blasting. Gina knocks again. “Res life.”

The door opens, revealing EJ in a backwards baseball cap and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt with a fraternity t-shirt underneath. He pokes his head out of the room and grins, eyes bright. “Hey, what’s going on?” he says in a friendly tone. 

“We got a call about a room that was too loud,” Gina says. 

“Oh,” EJ says. “It’s the music. Sorry about that. We’ll turn it down.” He starts to duck back into the room. 

“Not so fast,” Gina says, catching the door with one arm. “We’re gonna need your student ID.” 

EJ’s expression shifts. His eyes seem to darken until they’re almost gray, his eyebrows furrowing. “What? Seriously?” he glances from Gina to Ricky. 

Ashlyn appears at the door, poking her head out into the hallway, then turning to her cousin. “EJ, what’s going on?” 

“RAs are here to kill the fun,” he rolls his eyes.

“Oh, shit,” the redhead drawls. “Are we in trouble?” 

“Just go back inside. I’ll handle this,” EJ says. His cousin disappears back into the room. 

Ricky swallows, his arms hanging limply at his side.  _ Don’t just stand there. Say something! Help Gina!  _ “Look,” he says, pasting on what he hopes is a charming smile and stepping closer. “I get it. You just wanna play some music, have your friends over. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But…” 

EJ seizes on his words, his eyes lighting up and his features relaxing into a smile. “Hey, guys! Ash! No worries!” he calls over his shoulder. “It’s cool! RA Ricky says there’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing!” 

Another cheer goes up from within, and the music gets louder. 

“No! That’s not what I…” Ricky starts.

“Can we come in?” Gina cuts him off sharply. 

EJ frowns. “Yeah, sure. I guess,” he opens the door and stands aside. 

Gina presses into the room, Ricky right behind her. He catches the door before it swings shut. The room is dark, save for a few strobing LED lights. There must be at least two dozen people inside, and he recognizes RAs from all over campus. The music pounds from several Bluetooth speakers, so loud that he can’t even hear himself think. 

“I need you to turn the music off,” Gina says to EJ, shouting to be heard above the noise. 

“What?” 

“Turn it off!” she says. 

The senior rolls his eyes, then shouts over to two boys in the corner. “Guys! Cut the music!” 

The music grinds to a halt, and a few of the others groan in disapproval. 

“Thank you,” Gina says, her ears pounding. “Now, can you turn on the lights, please?” 

EJ grumbles as he fumbles for a lightswitch. The room is flooded in incandescent light, and Ricky can see all of the supposed party guests for the first time. EJ and Ashlyn are the only two he knows by name. 

“There. Happy now?” EJ says. Ricky’s heart jumps. For a moment, he forgets that this is all an act. EJ’s really convincing, and he looks pissed. “We turned off the music. You guys can go.” 

“Not yet,” Gina says. She stands resolute, crossing her arms, chin jutting out just slightly. “We still need your student ID, and the student IDs for everyone here.” 

“Seriously?” EJ’s voice goes up several decibels, and his expression becomes more irate. “You’re writing us up? We did what you wanted, now get the hell out.” 

Ricky’s heart races. Of all the parties he’d been to that got shut down, no one had ever gotten confrontational with an RA before. Now, though, seeing EJ growing more belligerent, he feels staggeringly helpless. He’d always assumed people would just cooperate with the RAs. Yeah, they could sometimes ruin the fun, but they were still just students at the end of the day. It occurs to him that he should say or do  _ something _ instead of leaving Gina hanging all on her own, but he doesn’t know what to do or say that won’t make things worse. 

“Right now, you’re over capacity and violating quiet hours. That’s already two conduct violations. You wanna go for three?” Gina challenges. 

“You know what?” EJ takes a step closer. “Maybe I do.” 

Gina is tall, but EJ is still taller and better built, and as he comes toward Gina imposingly, Ricky does the only thing he can think to do. He steps in, placing himself between Gina and the oncoming senior. The door swings shut behind them with a slam that makes everyone jump. 

EJ freezes. For a moment, no one seems to know what to do. Ashlyn stares, wide-eyed, and Ricky swallows so hard, he’s sure it’s audible. It’s an act. He knows it’s an act. And he knows EJ won’t actually take it too far. But he’s also acutely aware that the gravity in the room has shifted, and he’s just making everything up as he goes along. 

Gina is the first to recover. “Look, I get that you guys are mad that we broke up your party. But it’s not safe to have this many people in a room, and your neighbors are trying to sleep. Now, why don’t you send your guests home before everyone ends up getting in more trouble?” 

Ashlyn sighs. “EJ, let’s just listen to them. I don’t wanna end up in anymore trouble.” 

“Fine,” the boy relents. There is a pause before he breaks character, relaxing into himself again and smiling encouragingly at the two new staff members. “End scene,” he says. A round of applause goes up around the room, and Ashlyn crosses over to open the door for Ben. 

“Alright, let’s debrief,” the supervisor says, stepping into the room briskly. 

“I’m sorry,” Ricky blurts. “I feel like I was...kinda useless. Actually, I sorta just made everything worse.” The tips of his ears glow red, and he fixes his gaze on a chipped tile in the floor. 

“Hey, it’s fine,” EJ says gently. “That’s why we practice. You actually didn’t do so bad, all things considered.”

“He’s right,” Ashlyn says, then turns to Gina. “And Gina, you did a great job of keeping things under control.” 

“Yeah,” EJ nods. “You kept cool even when things started going south. And Ricky, that was pretty gutsy of you to put yourself between me and Gina when I started coming at her. But just for the future, if that ever happens, don’t put yourself in the way of someone who’s being physically aggressive. Your best bet at that point is to take your partner and leave the room. You can look up the room number and the names of the residents later to write the report. No need to possibly put yourself in harm’s way or escalate the situation.” 

“And try to keep the door open at all times,” Ashlyn advises. “Just in case.” 

“Sorry,” Ricky mumbles. 

“Stop apologizing,” EJ admonishes, clapping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. “You did good. And honestly, it’s pretty admirable that you were willing to step in to protect a coworker.” 

Ben nods. “Let’s try to avoid that in the future, though, shall we? I prefer to keep my staff members in one piece.” 

Ricky nods, but it feels forced. Even amid all of his mentors’ insistence that he did well, he can’t help but feel a bit like an anchor: weighing things down, holding them back. 

“Thanks for having my back in there,” Gina says as they leave the room. “Literally.” 

* * *

“Alright, buck up, kids,” Jenn claps her hands. The sound echoes throughout the bare room. “This is about to be the performance of your lives.” 

Seb blinks owlishly. “Jenn, this is a simulation to train new hires…” 

“So?” the woman says. “It doesn’t matter how small the audience is, Seb. When you’re onstage, you perform. I want this to be a Tony Award-winning show.” 

“Um, what exactly is the scenario?” EJ asks, sitting backwards on the desk chair. The room is completely empty save for the standard issue furniture. 

“Oh. Right,” Jenn turns to the paper in her hand. “Your scenario this time around is a bias incident. The RAs have received a report that one roommate is bullying the other for being gay. They will be addressing the situation as they deem appropriate. Choose amongst yourself who the victim and the aggressor will be.”

EJ’s breath hitches and his gaze darts to Seb. The blond seems unsurprised, even easygoing about the situation. “I don’t mind playing the victim,” he says. 

“Uh, Jenn...I don’t know about this,” EJ says haltingly. “I mean, Seb’s my friend…” 

Seb smiles. “EJ, it’s okay. I volunteered for this scenario.” Jenn had been a bit hesitant to let him be in this scene when he’d asked, but he managed to persuade her by reminding her that he could draw on his own experiences to help educate new staff about how to handle such situations sensitively. He’d been the target of plenty of homophobic bullying in high school, he’d reasoned. Might as well use the pain for something productive. 

“Yeah, but… Look, I know it’s just pretend, but I don’t know if I can even pretend to say something like that to you,” the senior sputters. 

The younger boy leans forward in his seat, his expression kind. “EJ, I promise you that it won’t hurt my feelings. I know it’s just acting. I know you don’t mean it. If anything, this is supposed to prepare everyone to make sure this kind of thing doesn’t happen for real. Besides,” he adds grimly, “after the things I’ve heard said about me, the words barely even register anymore.”

EJ looks startled. “Seb…” his voice trails off at the earnest look in the blond boy’s eyes. “I promise I won’t use any slurs. And let me know if I’m going too far, okay?” he requests. “I’ll back off. Just...give me a sign.” 

“A sign?” Seb arches a brow in amusement. 

“Yeah, uh, take off your glasses and polish them,” the senior suggests. “That’ll be the sign.” 

* * *

Ben stops them in front of the next closed door and glances at the page in his hand. “Scenario two. Bias incident. A resident has contacted you, stating he has experienced homophobic remarks and harassment from his roommate. He has asked you to meet with him so that he can give a statement. When you are ready, you may proceed.” 

Ricky nods slowly, wetting his lips as he approaches the door, determined not to be so useless this time. He knocks lightly. “Res life.” 

There is a shuffling sound within, and a moment later, the door opens a crack to reveal Seb. The boy’s blue eyes are wide. “He’s here,” he hisses in an urgent whisper. 

“Huh?” Ricky is taken aback. “Who’s here?” 

Gina steps closer to the door. “Your roommate?” she questions. 

The blond nods. 

“Well, why don’t you let us come in?” Gina suggests. “We have your back.” 

Seb hesitates, glancing over his shoulder surreptitiously before opening the door wider and motioning for them to enter. Ricky steps in first and finds EJ sitting at one of the two desks in the room, his feet up and his phone in hand. The older boy looks momentarily startled. 

“What are the RAs doing here?” he asks, looking pointedly at Seb. 

The younger boy presses himself against the opposite wall, as if trying to phase through it. “N-nothing.” 

“Room checks,” Gina supplies smoothly, and for a moment, Ricky is struck by how easily and convincingly she says it. 

“Yeah, bullshit,” EJ says, turning an accusing glare on Seb. “What did you tell them?” 

The atmosphere in the room shifts. Seb cowers, curling inward. For a moment, Ricky forgets that it’s an act. It’s all so convincing. EJ is out of his seat, advancing upon the other boy, and he has to will himself not to get in between like last time. 

“What did you tell them?” EJ demands, louder this time. 

“Nothing!” 

“So it’s not good enough that you’re a princess. You’re a snitch, too?” 

Ricky looks on, his mind racing as the situation rapidly deteriorates in front of him.  _ Do something, goddammit!  _

“Enough!” Gina’s voice is loud, commanding, and crystal clear. “You,” she points to EJ. “Step outside with me.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, and she quickly stalks to the door and opens it, holding it expectantly until the older boy steps out into the hall with her. She lets the door shut with a resounding thud behind them.

Seb releases a shuddering breath as soon as the door closes, sinking to the ground with his head clutched between both hands. Ricky looks around the bare room, his mind buzzing with a million things to do or say. Finally, he squats down beside the other boy and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You alright?” It’s a dumb question. Of course he’s not alright. But Seb lets it go and offers a tight smile. 

“You heard him, right?” he says. “He says that kind of stuff all the time about me. Sometimes to my face, sometimes to his friends while I’m in the room. I don’t even wanna know what he says when I’m not around.” 

Ricky nods.  _ It’s an act. It’s an act. It’s an act.  _ “I’m sorry, Seb,” he says simply and sincerely. “I know nothing’s gonna totally fix this, but we’re here to help. Gina’s out there laying into EJ right now. He’s not gonna get away with saying stuff like that again.” 

Out in the hallway, Gina glares at EJ as she leads him down the hall, out of earshot of Seb. Her blood feels on fire as it pulses through her limbs, and she clenches and unclenches her hands, reminding herself that none of this is real, even if it is well-acted. Nevertheless, her anger can’t help but seep out. “You know why I asked you to step outside with me,” she says. It’s a statement, not a question. 

“Why?” EJ grumbles. 

“Do you know what the consequences for bias intimidation could be?” 

“What?” 

“Expulsion.” She says the word emphatically. 

“I didn’t know!” the senior stammers. 

“It’s in the student code of conduct handbook,” Gina returns flatly. “You signed it when you moved in, which means you’re responsible for the information inside it. If you didn’t read it, that’s not my fault. And that’s to say nothing of the possible legal consequences outside of school…”

“It wasn’t bias intimidation! He’s a snitch! I called him a snitch!” 

“You called him a lot more than that.” Gina’s hands fall to her hips. “I was there. I heard it with my own ears. And you best believe that I’m writing you up for it. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before you decide to mock someone for their differences.” 

EJ falls silent for a moment, his eyes scanning the ground as he tries to think of what to say next. He comes up blank. What is there to say when Gina’s response was so clear-cut and adamant? “Scene?” He says it like a question, like he’s asking Gina for permission. 

“Scene,” she nods, forcing her heart rate to slow. EJ clears his throat, and a strange look passes over his face as they make their way back up the hall toward the room. Ben stands across from the door, nodding at them as they approach. “You alright?” Gina asks, turning to her co. 

“Yeah,” EJ responds, but his voice is tight and almost pained. “You?” 

“Fine,” she says, rapping lightly on the door. Ricky opens it a second later. “Scene’s over,” she says. He nods and steps aside to let them enter, Ben right behind them. 

“That was...intense,” Ricky breathes. 

“You’re telling me,” Seb smiles sympathetically, rising to a standing position. 

After verifying that they are all okay, Ben conducts the debrief. 

“Good work separating the aggressor from the victim,” he says to Gina. “You immediately defused the situation by asking EJ to step out. And good call letting Seb remain with Ricky, too. This way, you have someone to comfort the victim while you deal with the bully.” 

Ricky forces a smile and mumbles a “good job” to Gina. Once again, her quick thinking brought a tense situation to a quick resolution, and once again, he was left gaping like a fish out of water. 

“You did a good job, too,” Seb says to him. “It was really good of you to stay in the room with me to try and make sure I was feeling better.” 

“Thanks,” Ricky replies, but he’s pretty sure the other boy is just trying to make him feel better. Gina’s the real hero, here. 

“Seb, I’m so sorry,” EJ says. 

The blond laughs. “I promise it’s fine. Really. You didn’t even say anything that bad, honestly.” 

“Still friends?” 

“Duh. Hug it out?” Seb opens his arms. 

EJ laughs, crosses the room, and folds the smaller boy into a tight hug.

* * *

“You ready, Nini?” Jenn asks. 

Nini nods, shifting on the bare mattress. The plastic covering crinkles around her. She wasn’t sure which scenario she would get. She was kind of hoping for the large party. Not that parties are at all her scene, but it would’ve been fun to pretend for a few hours. Plus, she would’ve been able to hangout in the background and watch the ridiculousness unfold. She’d been a bit disappointed to learn she would be on her own for the live simulations, portraying an anxious resident with a bad case of homesickness. 

The lights are off and the blinds are drawn to set the mood, but she wishes now that she hadn’t done that. Coupled with the silence, it’s a bit unnerving. She traces the shadows of the blinds with her eyes: the slats cast across the wall by the golden sunlight that is slowly starting to recede as the afternoon wears on. This will be her fourth time running through the scenario, and she can feel the tiredness creeping in. The East Hall staff haven’t even come through yet and she’s running out of ideas for how to play this part. Not that she needs to change it up, necessarily, considering each set of new RAs only goes through each scenario once, but it keeps things interesting. 

There’s a knock at the door.  _ Show time.  _ She rises from the bed and pads over to open it. Ricky and Gina stand on the other side. Ricky’s eyes widen when he spots her, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. She stares at Ricky, and he stares at the floor. 

Nini swallows. Normally, she wouldn’t be the one starting the conversation. “Can I help you guys?” 

Ricky seizes on the invitation. “Yeah, um… We were a little worried about you. Would you mind if we came inside?” He says it hastily, as if he’s been rehearsing what he would say.

“Sure.” She stands aside and allows the two of them to enter, then trails them back into the room. She knows what the prompt told them. Her roommate reported that she was acting withdrawn: spending a lot of time in bed, not going out much or interacting with anyone. She takes a seat on the mattress, feeling it dip slightly under her weight. Ricky pulls over a chair from the desk and drops into it, but Gina remains standing, leaning slightly on the bedframe.

“What’s going on?” Ricky’s voice is surprisingly soft, even gentle. It startles her. 

“What do you mean?” 

The boy shrugs. “Just...haven’t seen you around too much, you know? Your roommate said you’ve been spending a lot of time in here.” 

“Just tired, you know?” Nini shrugs. 

“I know,” he nods. He sounds sincere, understanding. It’s not the Ricky she knows, nor the one she’s come to expect. “But you can see why we’re a little worried, right? We all get tired or have a couple of down days. But your roommate said it’s been a while since she’s even seen you leave the room for anything besides going to class or getting food.”

Nini sighs. “I’m not used to being this far from home.” Maybe it’s the tiredness, or the fact that she’s run out of ideas for this scenario, or maybe it’s that she’s with her own staff this time, but it’s painfully close to the truth.

“How far’s home?” Ricky asks. 

“Far,” she answers. “Denver.”

“I know how you feel,” he nods. “I’m from Chicago.” 

Nini’s eyes flick to Ricky’s. She sizes him up, trying to figure out if he’s being serious or just playing a part. As far as she can tell, he’s not lying. She never would have guessed he was this far from home, too. “It’s just a tough adjustment, that’s all. I spent a whole summer with my family. I have to get used to not being with them again.”

“Maybe you could try coming to some events,” Gina suggests brightly. “Being around other people might make it easier to adjust.”

“I don’t know,” Nini says, dropping her gaze to the floor once more. 

“Or maybe try joining a club?” she offers. 

“None of the clubs I’ve seen really interest me.”

“Have you thought about going to the Counseling Services Center?” Gina asks. “They have groups for people who are feeling lonely or homesick.” 

“I don’t need counseling services!” Nini protests, her voice coming out louder and harsher than she intended. Her breathing starts to turn ragged. “I just… I need to be left alone. I need some time. I’m all by myself here. I don’t have a lot of friends, and this place doesn’t really feel like home, and no amount of events and clubs and group sessions is gonna change that.” She draws in a deep breath and pulls herself back from the spiral she feels coming on. The whole thing has gone completely off the rails, and she wishes she’d had more time to concoct some sort of story. It’s all just a little too close to reality for her liking.

Ricky’s expression changes. He looks like he’s been stung: eyes wide, mouth agape. “I’m sorry. Can we just… Time out?” his voice comes out thick and constricted, and for a moment, Nini worries he might actually start to cry. It can’t be just the scenario. She’s not that talented of an actress. But she can’t even hazard a guess as to what might be getting to her co. 

She blinks. No one’s ever requested a time out during live sims as far as she knows, even though the option was always presented to them. She isn’t sure what to say or do. “Uh, sure…” 

“Thanks,” Ricky says hoarsely, rising from his seat and bolting for the door. It slams shut behind him. 

Nini glances at Gina, but the girl looks just as confused. 

* * *

Ashlyn slowly makes her way through the bottom floor of East Hall. After Ricky abruptly excused himself from the live simulations, Jenn sent the rest of the staff to look for him. It was a safe bet that he’d return to the building. East Hall is full of good hiding places, especially on the lower level. There are study rooms to duck into, and the lights are motion-activated, so if you sit still long enough, they’ll eventually go out and shroud you in darkness. And that’s to say nothing of the stairwells, laundry room, community kitchen, and the vestibule of vending machines full of snacks that are long past their sell-by date. If she didn’t want to be found, the lower level would be her first stop.

“Ricky?” she calls, easing the laundry room door open, scattering a few tufts of lint. The washers and dryers are silent. Some of their doors hang open, and the pervasive odor of detergent and dryer sheets fill the air. A small sniffle from somewhere in the back draws her attention, and she finds the boy sitting on the floor, tucked into the corner with his knees drawn up, his mop of curls just visible over the surface of a table. 

“Hi,” he croaks sheepishly. He doesn’t look great. His eyes are puffy and red, his upper lip streaked with snot. He sniffles again, running the back of his hand under his nose. 

“Hey,” the redhead says simply, easing herself down to the floor across from him. She crosses her legs and offers him a reassuring smile. “Everyone’s looking for you,” she tells him quietly. “EJ’s been pounding on your door for the last fifteen minutes.”

He chuckles despite himself. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” she waves him off. “Live sims are the most intense day of training. It’s a lot to have thrown at you at once.” 

He shakes his head doubtfully. “I should’ve kept it together better.” 

“Sometimes you just can’t,” Ashlyn shrugs. “Feel like taking a walk with me?” 

Ricky hesitates. “I look like a mess.” 

“A short one,” Ashlyn insists. “Take it from me, the laundry room floor is definitely one of the worst places to cry.” 

She helps him to his feet, using both hands to haul him up, and leads him out of the laundry room and into her hallway. Her door is plastered in door tags from previous years: RA Ashlyn written in a multitude of fonts and handwritings. She unlocks the door and invites him in. 

Ricky looks around. Ashlyn’s room is the same size as his, but it feels infinitely cozier. The walls are adorned with abstract prints and collages made from magazine clippings. Some are signed and dated with names he doesn’t recognize. Others are uncredited. A four-headed lamp stands in one corner behind the armchair, each head decorated with a different, neon-colored lampshade. Her bed is raised as high as it will go, piled with fuzzy blankets, and an array of pastel-colored storage bins peek out from underneath. A fluffy white rug takes up the middle of the floor. 

“Have a seat in the cry chair,” Ashlyn says, gesturing to the armchair. 

“Cry chair?” he repeats, easing himself into it. It somehow feels more comfortable than the one in his room, even though they’re exactly the same.

“Yeah,” the redhead chuckles. “That’s what everyone started calling it last year. They all come here when they need a place to cry, or vent, or just take a break from everything out there. It’s tough, you know? We live and work in the same place. You can’t really escape it sometimes. But this,” she gestures around the room, “is a safe place. Do you want tea?” 

“No, I’m good,” Ricky mumbles, glancing around. 

“Nini said you seemed pretty upset after that last scenario,” she notes, filling an electric kettle with water. 

He tries to force a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. “It just hit a little close to home, that’s all. I didn’t mean to overreact.” And it’s true. He hadn’t intended to react the way he did, and it perplexes him. One minute, everything was fine. He even seemed to be doing a better job than Gina in this scenario, and he was proud of himself for getting Nini to talk. And then she’d brought up feeling alone and out of place, and suddenly it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He shakes his head in resignation. If there was any lingering doubt that he was a kid in over his head, there won’t be now. “Do you think I could try again?” he asks, picking his eyes up off the floor to meet Ashlyn’s. “Like, get a do-over. I think I could really do it this time.” 

Ashlyn laughs lightly. “Ricky, it’s fine,” she says. “You did fine. Just take a break, okay? You don’t need a do-over.” The electric kettle clicks as the heating element shuts off. She pours the steaming water into a ceramic mug decorated with owls and drapes a tea bag over the rim before pressing it into his hands. 

* * *

By the time evening rolls around, Ricky starts to feel more like himself again. The twenty-minute, steaming hot shower and blasting his music until his thoughts seemed far away likely helped. His phone buzzes with a new text, and he picks it up, expecting it to be Big Red. He had come by earlier and asked if he wanted to hang out, but he’d turned him down, mumbling about finishing his door tags ahead of tomorrow’s move-in day. He’s surprised to find that EJ has added him to yet another group chat, this time including all of the East Hall RAs. 

_ We made it to the end of training!  _

Seb’s reply comes in seconds: three praise-hands emojis. 

EJ texts again a minute later.  _ So I’m thinking we should celebrate. And I’m also kinda sick of the dining hall. Who wants to go out and get some real food? _

_ PLEASE _ , Seb replies. 

_ Count me in. I can’t do another night of soggy salad with no dressing _ , Ashlyn adds. 

_ Isn’t dinner mandatory?  _ Gina questions. 

_ Yeah, but Jenn won’t mind. Besides, forcing us to eat it is also cruel and unusual punishment so…  _ Ashlyn replies. 

_ True. I’m in. _

Ricky starts to tap out an affirmative reply. He could use the distraction, and he should probably eat something anyway. It beats being alone. Another buzz interrupts him, though, and he sees Nini’s name appear. 

_ I’ll come!  _

He hesitates. He hasn’t spoken to his co since he tapped out halfway through live simulations, and he’s not sure how she feels about the whole thing. Knowing her, she probably thinks he’s unprofessional or a quitter. She’ll probably roll her eyes when she sees him, or pointedly ignore him while he sits at the table with her. But then again, weren’t they sort of having a moment before everything went off the rails? 

_ I’m in _ , he types, and presses send before he can back out. 

They decide to go to Applebee’s over Nini’s objections. It’s cheap and it’s close. No one has a car big enough to seat six, so they split the driving duties. Ricky is relieved when he finds himself in the backseat of Gina’s Jetta, with EJ riding shotgun. Nini and Ashlyn ride with Seb. The restaurant is surprisingly crowded for a weeknight. They manage to score the last six-top, just across from the bar. The TVs alternate between broadcasting the US Open and a baseball game between the Cardinals and the Reds. No one seems to be watching too intently, but he’s glad for the background noise and flickering images. 

As they take their seats, Ricky makes eye contact with Nini for the first time. She’s seated across from him on the other end of the table. He expects her to frown or shake her head at him. Instead, he’s pretty sure he detects a faint smile on her lips, but it recedes before he can be certain. She tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear and goes back to scanning the menu. He can’t help but notice that she looks different than she has all week. She’s wearing a black tank top that hugs her slim figure. He shakes his head to clear the thought and goes back to looking at his own menu. He isn’t used to seeing his coworkers outside of work, he reasons. They all look nice, and there’s an air of celebration about, mixed with relief that training is finally over and they can actually start the year. 

The waiter comes to the table to take their drink orders. Nini requests a glass of ice water with lemon, and Gina does the same. EJ orders a Blue Moon, handing over his ID when asked. The waiter glances at it, then hands it back before turning to Ricky. 

“And what would you like to drink?” 

Ricky darts his eyes around the table.  _ Screw it. I could use a drink.  _ “I’ll have a Blue Moon, too,” he says with an easy smile, noting the way Nini raises her eyebrows sky-high. 

“Can I see your ID?” the waiter asks. 

“Sure.” He reaches into his wallet and hands the man a card. He looks at it closely, his brows furrowing as he inspects it, then hands it back wordlessly and walks away with a promise to put in their drink orders. 

“I didn’t know you were twenty-one,” Nini says challengingly. At least she waited until after the waiter was out of earshot.

“I’m not,” Ricky shrugs simply. Another perk of being so far from home? Nobody’s seen enough Illinois driver’s licenses to know how to spot a fake.

“Seriously?” Nini scoffs in derision. 

“So,” EJ swoops in, heading off the conversation, “how about those Cardinals?” 

* * *

Seb raps gently on the door. EJ’s put up his door tags, he notes. There’s a Monopoly property deed taped to Carlos’s door with his name on it. The property deed beside it says Howard. Carlos opens the door, already clad in pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt. His face brightens when he lays eyes on his boyfriend.

“Babe, what are you doing here?” Carlos questions, noting Seb’s sleepwear and the teddy bear tucked under his arm. 

Seb shrugs. “It’s the last night before move-in,” he says. “I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone.”

Carlos is silent for a moment, and Seb wonders if he miscalculated. What if his boyfriend wants space, instead? Sure, he usually prefers the company of others to being alone, especially in a crisis, but he’s also never seen Carlos this anxious about anything before. A new floor that is completely the opposite of what he asked for, and a roommate he doesn’t know. It’s a lot to come to terms with. 

His fears are allayed when Carlos rushes forward, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “You’re the best, babe,” he says. 

It takes Seb a moment to process before he hugs his boyfriend back. It’s more physical affection than he’s used to. For as long as he’s known Carlos, he was never in the closet. But he quickly learned after they got together that he was very uncomfortable with the idea of PDA. He’s reasonably sure he won’t be getting a hug from Carlos in the middle of the hallway again once everyone else starts to move in. 

The room is dark and quiet, save for the occasional passing car. He hears EJ and Ashlyn go past twice on their rounds. Carlos’s breathing is deep and even, the sheets rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. The twin XL is way too small to be comfortable for two, but they somehow manage to make it work. Seb doesn’t even mind having to contort himself, half of his body wedged into the gap between the wall and the mattress.

He thinks about the scenario he acted out in live simulations: EJ’s reluctance to take part, the way he apologized profusely even after being assured it was okay. He recalls Ricky and Gina’s reactions: their indignation and the anger that flashed in Gina’s eyes, Ricky’s sensitivity in the aftermath. If only Carlos could have been there to see it. They really are like a family, and he is confident that every one of his coworkers would do everything in their power to make sure Carlos feels safe. He gathers all of these thoughts up in his mind and presses his head gently against Carlos’s, hoping that osmosis works for thoughts, too, and that his boyfriend can absorb some of that confidence for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time! Live simulations? Yup, actual thing. We always did these at the end of training to help new staff prepare to address incidents in real life. Returning RAs would act out different scenarios. Some of them were a bit on the lighter side - things like wild parties. Others were a lot heavier, though, like mental health crises, fights, and bias intimidation. We had to prepare for it all because if it happened in a dorm, RAs were usually the first people to come upon it. It was nerve-wracking as a new hire, but it helped so much. There really is no better teacher than experience. 
> 
> I freely admit we went over the top with them sometimes with the lighter scenarios. One year, I was in a large party scene and because I am exceedingly small, I was actually able to hide inside a wardrobe. When the scene was wrapping up, I would pop out of the wardrobe and run out the door, and usually scare the daylights out of anyone who didn't know I was in there. So yeah, you could say I had fun with it. Live simulations were also the only time I ever got to play pong (with water, obviously) and claim it was job related. Also, Applebee's was totally a thing, too. We used to do "family dinners" there with most of the staff because it was close and after 10 PM, appetizers were half off. (We were broke college kids). 
> 
> Anyway, that's all for now! Please, please, please be safe and reach out if you need somebody to talk to. I'll see you in the next chapter!


	4. Move-In Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is here! Thank you so, so much for all the wonderfully kind feedback you've given so far. I know we're still early in the story, but the thoughtful comments and love you've shown have been beyond encouraging.

7 AM is an ungodly hour to be awake, but somehow Ricky manages to stumble out of bed and into his res life polo. He digs his Vans out from under the ever-growing pile of laundry that occupies the middle of his floor and trudges - bleary-eyed - to the conference room. Nini and Gina are already there, huddled in two chairs and nursing styrofoam cups of coffee. Jenn stands at one end of the table, biting into a jelly doughnut. She brightens when she sees him walk in and dusts powdered sugar from her hands.

“Ricky! Good morning!” she chirps. Everything about Jenn is bright today: her res life polo, the matching bright red headband in her hair, the hot pink piping on her running shoes. “Help yourself to doughnuts and coffee,” she gestures at the spread. “Gotta keep your energy up. It’s gonna be a long day.” 

He groans inwardly. Weren’t live simulations supposed to be the longest day? He shuffles to the box of doughnuts and picks out a chocolate glazed, then dumps coffee into a styrofoam cup and empties six sugar packets into it before joining his coworkers.

Nini makes a face at the cup and the doughnut on his paper plate. “That’s a lot of sugar,” she says, but the usual biting edge to her tone is absent. Maybe she just doesn’t have the capacity to hate him this early in the morning. 

“You heard Jenn,” he shrugs, biting into the pastry. “It’s gonna be a long day.” 

“You’re gonna crash before noon,” she says. 

“Then I’ll just have some more sugar.” 

Gina stifles a laugh - or maybe a groan, he can’t quite tell - and shakes her head, downing the last of her coffee. “I’m gonna get a refill,” she announces. 

Ricky sits beside his co in silence, finishing his doughnut. Finally, Nini looks up. “So, for our floor meeting…” she begins. 

“Our what?” 

She looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Our floor meeting? You know, that thing we do to introduce ourselves to our residents and explain the rules? That thing we’re literally supposed to have in,” she glances at her watch, “eleven-and-a-half hours?” 

Ricky blinks. He’d stayed up until two finishing his door tags, and even though they were a bunch of crude witch hats - a feeble attempt to half-assedly match Nini’s stupid Hogwarts theme - he was still pretty proud of himself for being able to get them all done. He didn’t recall seeing anything about a floor meeting. 

Nini shakes her head. “Whatever,” she mumbles. Her vaguely contemptuous tone has returned full-force. “I have my agenda from the first floor meeting I did last year. We can just use that.” 

“Each of you will be given a task,” Ben says when they’ve all gathered in the conference room. “We need to be a well-oiled machine - today especially - so please make sure to take your responsibilities seriously. We know you’re all capable, competent RAs. Now let’s make sure that our new residents see that, too.” 

“Alright,” Jenn claps her hands. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for: check-in assignments! EJ, you’re going to be out front directing traffic and telling new arrivals where to go.” 

“Yes!” EJ exults, nearly dropping the half-eaten doughnut in his hand. “Third year in a row.” 

“Nini, Gina, I need you both processing check-ins. When a new resident arrives, you’ll need to verify that they’re in the right place and give them their paperwork.” 

Nini turns to her mentee and smiles, high-fiving her. 

“Ashlyn, you’re going to be on cart check-out. Try to make sure nobody steals the carts and races them down the rec center hill this year. Seb, you’re going to be in charge of handing out keys. And Ricky,” she settles her gaze on the boy with a smile, “you’re going to be on elevator duty.” 

“Oof,” Seb winces, turning to pat the boy on his shoulder. “Bad break,” he says sympathetically.

He already knows what he’s in for. There was always an RA running the elevator when he moved in. All they did was ask “what floor?” and push a button, then make polite small talk until they arrived on the appropriate floor, laden with carts full of luggage and furniture. He’s a glorified lackey. 

“It’s perfect for him,” Nini says to Gina, just loud enough for him to hear. “He’s great at pushing buttons.”

“Alright, places everyone!” Jenn says, glancing at the clock on the wall. “East Hall officially opens in t-minus five minutes!” 

They rise from their seats and scramble for the conference room door. Ricky lingers, waiting for the rest of the room to clear out before approaching Jenn. “Hey, Jenn?”

The blonde turns. “Ricky! What’s up?” she asks, clasping her hands. 

“Uh, is there any chance I could trade assignments with someone?” 

She arches a brow. “Sweetie, why? Are you claustrophobic?” 

“Huh? No, not that. It’s just… I don’t know. Can’t I do something else? Anything else?” 

“Ricky,” Jenn says, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but Ben and I specifically chose each staff member’s assignment to match their strengths. We gave you elevators for a reason.” 

Ricky isn’t sure whether or not to be insulted. He gets why Nini and Gina would be put on paperwork; they’re efficient to a fault. And EJ directing traffic makes sense because he has the presence for it. What’s Jenn trying to say by putting him on elevator duty? That he’s not trustworthy enough for any other role? That all he’s capable of doing is saying hello and pushing a button?

“The person running the elevator spends the most time with students and families while they’re moving in,” she says. “We need a warm, friendly face to welcome our new residents. That’s why we chose you. You’re energetic and outgoing. We know you’ll make everyone feel at home here. I can’t stop you from trading assignments with someone if they’re willing, but I hope you’ll stick with it and trust the process. You’re here for a reason, Ricky. Don’t forget it.” 

He nods slowly. He hadn’t thought of it like that before, but the more he considers it, the more it makes sense. Everyone else will get only a few seconds of interaction with the residents as they move in. He’ll need to make conversation during the ride. And there’s something about the way Jenn says it - with a warm smile and a sparkle in her eye - that tells him she means every word. There is a place for him in East Hall, and this is it.

* * *

By nine o’clock, there is a steady stream of cars lining up outside of the building. Students pushing carts move back and forth from car to building, meandering through the throng of traffic like ants. Ricky spots Big Red’s fiery hair among them. EJ is in his element, standing in the middle of the chaos with his arms tucked into bright orange traffic cones and another perched on his head. He smiles radiantly, swinging his arms like a runway flagger as he points the arriving residents to the front door.

Ricky scans every face that enters the elevator. When a particularly attractive brunette steps on, he puts on his most charming smile - roguish and lopsided, so that the slight dimple in his right cheek stands out. “We sure got lucky that you chose East Hall,” he says.

The girl rolls her eyes and spends the rest of the ride staring pointedly at her phone in a way that communicates she is  _ definitely  _ not interested. He shrugs it off. No harm in trying. Besides, he doubts he would actually hook up with anyone in the building. It’d be too awkward having to see them all the time afterwards. But that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun. 

On his fifth trip, a trim, handsome blond boy gets into the elevator, his cart brimming with bedding and clothes and a million power strips.  _ Definitely a freshman.  _ “Sup,” Ricky greets, his features melting into a sideways smirk. 

“Hi,” the boy replies with a shy smile of his own, and the tips of his ears turn a little redder.  _ Progress. _

It’s an endless cycle of up and down, and he starts losing track of how many times he’s ridden the elevator. Enough times to know he’s taking the stairs from now on.  _ Maybe I really am claustrophobic…  _

A girl with sandy brown hair steps aboard. Two other students - frat boys by the look of it - trail behind her. One carries an enormous television in his arms while the other juggles three misshapen suitcases. “Thanks, boys,” the girl says as they deposit her belongings on the floor of the elevator. Her tone is breathy and cloying, like she’s trying very hard to sound sultry. She offers them a slow, indulgent smile, then turns to Ricky. Her smile widens. The doors slide shut. “Whew,” she fans herself, draping herself against the wall in a way that is entirely too forced. “Is it hot in here?”

Ricky fights the urge to cringe. She’s cute, but she’s also trying  _ way  _ too hard. Definitely not his type. Nonetheless, he offers her a polite smile. “What floor?” 

“Top floor,” she says, shifting closer to him. She leans in conspicuously close, scrutinizing his name tag. “So, Ricky,” she says. She drags out the second syllable of his name. “Come here often?” 

He stares at her incredulously.  _ Seriously?  _ “Yeah. I work here,” he replies flatly.

* * *

Within the first hour, Gina and Nini have the check-in process down to a science. What would normally be a tangle of students loosely gathered in front of the community room awaiting keys is instead an orderly line that flows in and out of the room. 

“Room 508!” Gina says, raising her voice so that it carries above the Abba song that blasts through the speakers Jenn set up.

“508!” Nini calls back, waving a triplicate form in the air and jogging back towards her coworker. She hands her the paper and half-walks, half-dances back to the folders full of identical paperwork for residents to sign, waiting until the next room is called. Gina giggles at her coworker’s stiff, frantic movement, noting that she’s never seen Nini this relaxed in the week that she’s known her. 

“I need you to sign here and date here,” Gina says, turning to the student standing in front of her. “Pink copy’s yours, and you’re gonna go see Seb at the other end of the room for your keys. Welcome to East Hall!” She points the boy to Seb, who sits beside at a table piled with boxes of keys, each placed in an individually-labeled envelope. Ashlyn sits beside him with a clipboard, a line of carts stretching out the door, waiting to be signed out. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen check-in go this smoothly,” Ben says, nodding his head approvingly as he approaches Gina. 

She smiles. Ben asked for a well-oiled machine. She and Nini delivered. For as long as she’s been alive, her mother has stressed the importance of efficiency. In her line of work, it is - quite literally - a matter of life and death. And while the consequences are nowhere near as dire for something as trivial as a move-in day, she’s proud of the easy rhythm she and Nini slotted into. 

“Hi!” she turns to the next resident in line. “What’s your room number?” 

* * *

Ricky’s phone vibrates just as he steps off the elevator, tugging at the collar of his shirt to cool himself off. The line of people has petered out to a slow trickle, enough that he can actually take a break and breathe fresh air. He never realized how stuffy elevators could be until he was forced to spend all day in one.

Jenn had come by around noon with slices of pizza and soda. He reaches for his half-drained can of Sprite. It’s lukewarm and flat, but he gulps it down anyway as he glances at his phone screen. It’s an email from Nini. Subject: Floor Meeting Agenda. 

He frowns and taps into his email app, opening the message. The first thing that strikes him is the “from” line. From: Nina Salazar-Roberts. 

_ Her real name is Nina?  _ He never truly considered it, but he supposes he should’ve known Nini was a nickname. But still, after knowing her as Nini for a week, he can’t picture her with any other name. There’s an attachment, but he scans the message in the body of the email first. 

_ Here’s the agenda for our floor meeting. I already scripted the whole thing for you, so you don’t have to worry about what to say. Just focus on your parts.  _

_ See you at 7. _

_ Nini _

His thumb hovers over the attachment as a wave of resentment washes over him.  _ She  _ scripted  _ me?  _ Sure enough, as he scrolls through the many pages Nini has attached, he sees portions of text highlighted in yellow, all with his name in bold. He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. Was it not enough that she shot down his ideas and acted like he’s a piece of dirt? Now she’s treating him like a child, too? Like he isn’t smart enough to come up with what to say on his own?

_ We’ll see about that, Nini.  _

He quickly taps out a response as another resident approaches the elevator. 

_ See you at 7. _

* * *

Nini catches herself humming a Regina Spektor song as she redoes her ponytail, taming the flyaways that came loose during the day. The dark bags under her eyes are deep-set and will probably take an entire weekend of hibernating to fully banish, but it’s well worth it for a successful move-in. She glances at her watch. 6:45. Just enough time to finish freshening up and make it to the lounge for their floor meeting. 

She has a good feeling about this. She already sent out a mass email to her residents to remind them of the 7 o’clock gathering. Some of them were already milling about the lounge when she passed through on the way back to her room. And she even came up with a script for Ricky’s parts and hastily slapped it together during their half-hour lunch break. 

She’s proud of herself for coming up with the plan. Her co was woefully unprepared for a floor meeting this morning and she’s just made his life - and hers - much easier. Now, he won’t have to scramble to think of what to say, and there’s little chance of them getting derailed. It’ll be a quick, thirty minute meeting and they’ll be on their way. She splashes cool water on her face in an effort to look more refreshed, puts on her warmest smile, and leaves her room.

Her smile fades when she arrives in the lounge and finds Ricky already there, lying sideways across one of the armchairs in the lounge with his feet draped over the arm. His res life polo is wrinkled, and he definitely looks like he spent all day in an elevator. His hair is partly matted from sweat, and his face is a little flushed.

He looks up at her through hooded eyes, and she notices for the first time that his eyelashes are surprisingly long. A lazy smile spreads across his face, and it’s the first indicator that something is wrong. Or the second. The first is that Ricky Bowen actually showed up to something early. 

“What?” she asks, her tone testier than she intended. 

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

She feels her eye start to twitch. He’s up to something. He’s too smug not to be. The only question is what. 

She’s still wondering exactly what her co is up to when they call the meeting to order. There are dozens of residents scattered around the lounge. Some sit on the furniture, while others sprawl out on the floor. She has a printout of the agenda in her hand. She made an extra copy for Ricky, too, but he keeps it at his side and doesn’t glance at it once. Things start off fine. She introduces herself and lets Ricky do the same. She welcomes them to East Hall, and Ricky echoes the sentiment. It all goes fine until they get to the policy section of the agenda.

“Quiet hours are from 10 PM to 8 AM on weekdays,” she says, “and from midnight to 10 AM on weekends. If you’re being too loud during quiet hours, you may get documented by a staff member. Remember, we’re all students here, so please try to be respectful of your neighbors. They might be studying or trying to sleep.” She pauses and turns expectantly to Ricky. He doesn’t look at the printout in his hand, and if anything, his self-satisfied smirk widens. She narrows her eyes and waits for him to give some common examples of ways residents inadvertently violate quiet hours: TVs turned up too loud, music blasting, loud conversations.  _ Just follow the script.  _

Instead, Ricky says, “That’s right. So if you’re banging too loud, we’ll be banging on your doors.” 

The remark wins him a smattering of snickers from the gathered students, and he seems mighty pleased with himself afterwards. Nini snorts in derision and rolls her eyes.  _ Really? A crude joke? Well-played, Bowen.  _

Nini tries to laugh along awkwardly. “You’re  _ so funny _ , Ricky,” she bites out, cutting a glare at her co. He pretends not to notice. “Anyway,” she draws the word out, “let’s move on to the drugs and alcohol policy. Please remember that East Hall is a dry building. Alcohol and drugs are never allowed on the premises, even if you’re over twenty-one. If you are caught with drugs or alcohol in the building, you will be penalized in accordance with the student code of conduct.” 

“That’s right,” Ricky nods sagely, his tone mockingly serious. Nini holds her breath and waits for whatever inane thing her co is going to say next. “So if you want to drink or do drugs, make sure to keep it  _ out  _ of the building. If you ask nicely, I might even tell you a few good places to go where -” 

“Okay,” she cuts him off with another awkward laugh. “D-don’t listen to him. He’s kidding.” 

“Totally,” Ricky says flatly. 

“Um, Ricky, why don’t you go over banned items?” 

“Sure,” he says indulgently, and she feels a twinge of regret for even asking at all. “Your room is your space, and we want you to be able to express yourself inside of it. That said, there are some items that are never allowed in the dorms.” Nini’s heart skips a beat.  _ That’s from the script. That’s word-for-word from the script.  _ She lets out an audible breath of relief. It’s fine. Ricky had his fun, he got a bit of a rise out of her like he wanted, and now they’re back on track.

“For example,” Ricky says, pausing for dramatic effect. “Fireworks are a definite no-go. Explosives, too.”  Nini deflates like one of the balloons from their failed tower. She should’ve known better than to think Ricky was finally going to be mature about this. She’d given him a list of all the common items people brought that weren’t approved: toasters, power strips without surge protectors, hot plates. Fireworks definitely weren’t on the list she gave him, and while they’re definitely banned, he’s also missing the point. And so are their residents. 

“And no wild animals,” Ricky continues. “Unless your pet bear is a licensed service animal, he has to stay home.” 

Nini grits her teeth so hard that her jaw feels like it might lock up. Her fingers dig into the piece of paper in her hand, and she feels it crumpling under her vise-like grip. She pastes on her best smile before cutting Ricky off. “What about candles, Ricky? Or lava lamps?” 

Ricky cringes exaggeratedly. “Well if you brought a lava lamp, we’re confiscating it just for having bad taste.”

“Alright,” she answers, and this time, she makes no attempt to disguise the contempt in her tone. “For a complete list of banned items, please visit the res life website. If you have any banned items in your room, please make sure to make arrangements to get them home as soon as possible.” 

She moves immediately into their contact information. “I live at the top of the 400 hall,” she says, “in room 401. It’s literally plastered in door tags, so it’s kinda hard to miss. If you need anything, you can always knock.” 

“That’s right,” Ricky puts in. “And I’m in 301. Come find me if you need anything. And that includes anybody in Nini’s wing, too. I’m always here for you if you want to talk to a cooler RA.” 

A burst of anger, slick and white-hot, surges within her, traveling up through her chest and into her throat. She turns her head to glare at Ricky, so quickly that she worries she might have whiplash. Her ponytail swings violently with the motion. This time, he’s looking directly at her, and the shit-eating grin on his face makes her want to reach out and slap him. 

“Moving on,” Nini turns back to the residents gathered around the lounge. Dozens of eyes are trained on her, and self-consciousness begins to bubble up in the back of her mind. The tips of her ears burn bright red. 

She finishes the meeting on her own, pointedly talking over Ricky every time he tries to interrupt. Eventually, he gives up and stops trying, and she dismisses the group at 7:37, a whole seven minutes later than she intended. 

“What the hell was that?” Nini wheels around and fixes her co with an accusing glare as soon as the last resident leaves. 

Ricky feigns innocence, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “What was what?” 

“You!” Her voice climbs two octaves, and she hates how shrill it sounds to her own ears. “That!” She gestures vaguely at the lounge. “You undermined me, Ricky! And you undermined yourself, too. Do you think our residents are gonna respect either of us after that?” 

He scoffs. “Calm down. It was just a few jokes.” 

She pinches the bridge of her nose and draws in a deep breath to steady herself. “I gave you a script for a reason,” she says. 

Ricky’s tone turns condescending. “Aw, what’s the matter, princess? Can’t handle not being in complete control?” 

“Do  _ not  _ call me that,” Nini retorts, jabbing a finger in his direction. “The script was for  _ your  _ benefit, because you had no idea what I was talking about this morning. I did it so you wouldn’t make an ass of yourself tonight, but I guess you found a way. So congratulations. You’re just lucky Ben or Jenn wasn’t here to witness that trainwreck.” 

He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again. His gaze drops to the floor. 

“Hope your jokes were worth it,” Nini says. She turns on her heel and stalks off, leaving her co in her wake. Day one with their residents and he’s already found a way to make her look like the bad guy. And a stick-in-the-mud. 

* * *

Ricky’s phone buzzes and he looks down to find a text from Big Red. 

_ Hey dude! There’s a party at the theta iota pi house. You down?  _

For once, he isn’t. He can feel the exhaustion all the way down to his bones. He hasn’t even showered yet. He collapsed on the floor the second he got back to his room, and he’s still there now - a full half-hour later - sprawled out amid the piles of dirty clothes that he should really get around to washing. His stomach rumbles, but he can’t summon the energy to drag himself to the dining hall.

Besides, he isn’t really in a party mood. Nini’s mad at him. Like,  _ really  _ mad. Madder than he thought she would be. Madder than he intended for her to be. It was just a few stupid jokes - a way of showing her that he didn’t appreciate being scripted, and a way to make the meeting more entertaining for all of them because Nini’s script was  _ dry _ . It wasn’t supposed to end with her reading him the riot act and then storming off. 

Part of him wants to apologize and try to smooth things over. But another part of him is indignant. She handed him a script like he’s some barely-literate child who can’t be trusted to speak for himself. She shouldn’t have expected anything less. 

Ricky groans as he eases himself to a sitting position, then stands up. He taps out a text to Big Red. 

_ No thanks. Too tired. Let me know about the next one though _

He opens his door and steps out into the hallway. The floor is littered with flattened boxes and evidence that almost three dozen people just moved in: stray bits of styrofoam, torn remnants of plastic wrap, scuff marks all along the baseboard. But the hallway itself is empty of people. It figures. Most of the residents on this floor are freshmen. They’re probably nervously mumbling smalltalk with their roommates, trying to set up their room to look like a Pinterest collage picture. Still, there are signs of life all around him: TVs playing, people talking, things sliding around on the floor. It’s infinitely better than the week he just spent on a silent floor, and he can already tell he’ll sleep much better tonight. 

He finds his way to Nini’s door. She wasn’t exaggerating when she said it was plastered in door tags. There are so many. Some are definitely her own creation - he recognizes her careful, loopy script from the rest of the door tags up and down her hall. But others appear to have been left by RAs past and present. There’s a Monopoly property deed tag from EJ, and a bright green frog labeled RA Nini from Seb. There are four from Ashlyn, and even one from Gina. His own door feels barren by comparison, with only the one lopsided witch hat he made for himself. 

He hesitates, his hand raised in a knocking position. He isn’t sure what he came to Nini’s door for. To apologize for taking things too far earlier? To justify himself? To ask her if scripting him was really for his own benefit, or because she didn’t trust him? He raps on the door before he can reconsider. The sound echoes and resonates throughout Nini’s room, but he doesn’t hear any noises within. He tries again, harder this time, and momentarily wishes he had the duty phone on him. Nothing. 

She must be out. He shrugs. Maybe it’s for the best. He has no clue what he would’ve said if she’d opened the door anyway. He decides to grab something to eat before the dining hall closes. Maybe Nini will be back in her room by then, and he can figure out exactly what to say to her. 

As he makes his way out through the main floor, he spots Nini talking to EJ by the elevator. She’s facing him, leaning against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. He can’t hear what they’re saying, and he’s not close enough to read her lips. It’s probably not his business anyway, but his feet carry him toward the two before he can stop himself. Nini stops talking the moment she notices him approaching, and EJ turns to look over his shoulder.

“Congrats on finishing your first move-in day!” the senior says.

Ricky forces a smile and mumbles a thank you, coming to a stop between his two coworkers, his back to the elevator door. “Hey,” he says, meeting Nini’s eyes briefly. He expects the usual flash of anger or contempt or  _ something _ . At best, her expression is dismissive, and she barely makes a noise to acknowledge him. 

“So…” EJ drawls after the silence has stretched on for an uncomfortably long period of time. 

“Yeah…” Nini says, scratching the side of her head. 

It’s clear to Ricky that whatever conversation he interrupted is now dead. He starts to excuse himself - the dining hall is only open for another fifteen minutes - when the elevator dings. He steps out of the way to allow whoever is inside to exit. Nini gasps, and EJ lets out a surprised “oh” that prompts him to turn around. 

A young man stumbles out, his hand pressed to his face. Blood seeps out between his fingers, and there are smears of it on his cheek. His white t-shirt is covered in bright red stains. He staggers forward and Ricky catches a whiff of alcohol permeating from him.

Nini and EJ rush forward. “What happened?” Nini asks, gingerly guiding the student toward a chair, carefully avoiding the drops of blood on his shirt. EJ assists, guiding him from the other side, and Ricky steps forward to follow them. 

“Here, sit down,” Nini encourages, easing him down in one of the seats. The boy looks dazed. His unfocused eyes are glazed over with a film of tears, and he groans as he sinks into the chair. 

“I recognize him. He’s one of mine,” EJ says. “Name’s Matt.” 

“Where’s he bleeding from?” Ricky asks. The question goes unanswered.

“Matt,” EJ says, a bit louder, “can you tell us what happened?” 

The boy murmurs something. 

“What’s he saying?” Ricky asks. 

“I don’t know,” Nini responds tersely, her eyes glued to the resident. 

“What do we do?” 

His co peels her eyes away from the injured student and glares pointedly at him. “I don’t know, Mr. Cool RA. I was hoping you’d tell me.” 

He sucks in a breath. “Really?” he asks defensively. “That’s what you’re focused on right now?” But it strikes him that Nini still seems stung by the comment he made earlier. It was a dumb joke, and he furrows his brow, wondering just why it bothered her so much. 

“I  _ was  _ focused on the situation, but you keep interrupting with questions you should already know the answers to.” 

“Hey,” EJ snaps, more forcefully than Ricky’s ever heard him speak before. It’s directed at the two of them. “Can you guys worry about that later and focus on the bleeding kid? Ricky, go call EMS. Tell them we have a guy bleeding from his face here. Nini, can you get some paper towels or something?” 

Ricky swallows and pulls out his phone. He feels like he’s watching himself from afar as he dials 911 and listens to the call dial out. On the third ring, a crisp, female voice speaks into the phone. 

“911, what is your location?” 

He swallows again. His head starts to buzz. He looks up to see EJ kneeling beside the student, trying to coax information out of him. The student - Matt - seems to regain a bit of clarity and tries to stand up over EJ’s objections. 

“Hello?” the dispatcher says. 

“Hi,” Ricky says, shaking his head to clear it. “Um, I’m in East Hall. I’m an RA. There’s… There’s this student that’s bleeding pretty badly. We’re on the main floor.” 

“Okay, and where are they bleeding from?” the dispatcher asks. 

Ricky holds the phone away from his face and calls across to EJ in a stage whisper. “EJ! Where’s he bleeding from?” 

EJ turns to the student. “Where’re you bleeding from?” he asks. “Can you move your hand?” He reaches for the boy’s hand, but he jerks away. 

“Don’t fucking touch me, bro!” he snaps. 

“Uh,” Ricky says into the receiver, “we aren’t really sure. Somewhere from his face. Either his nose or his mouth. He’s starting to get kinda mad, though. He kinda smells like he’s been drinking.” 

Nini returns with a roll of paper towels. She tears several off and passes them to EJ. 

“Get away from me!” the student yells louder, his speech slightly slurred. He tries to stand up again, but ends up swaying precariously. EJ reaches out instinctively to try to right him, but he yanks away violently. “I said get the  _ fuck  _ away from me!” In the process, he moves his hand away from his face, and they get a clear view of his swollen, bleeding nose and split lip. Nini exchanges a glance with EJ and shakes her head. 

“Looks like he fell flat on his face,” EJ notes. 

“I think he’s bleeding from his nose and mouth,” Ricky says into the phone. “His lip’s split open.” 

“Alright,” the dispatcher says. “I’ve got EMS on the way. What’s your name?” 

“Ricky Bowen,” he says, then corrects himself. “Richard. Richard Bowen.” 

“Okay, Richard. You’re on the main floor?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Great. They’ll be there in a minute. Try to see if you can get the student to put some pressure on the wound until then.” 

“Got it,” Ricky says, and hangs up. He starts to relay the instruction to EJ and Nini, but figures it would probably be useless, anyway. There’s no way the kid can be reasoned with. As it is, his coworkers have barely managed to corral him into a sitting position. Nini has her notes app open on her phone and is tapping furiously. He wishes he’d thought to take notes, too. 

The paramedics arrive in short order, wheeling a stretcher into the building. There are two of them - both students themselves. The lead paramedic, a young man with broad shoulders, approaches. The name tag on his uniform says R. Sanders. His eyes light up with familiarity when he spots EJ kneeling by the kid’s side. “Should’ve known the first call of the semester would be yours, Caswell.” 

“You know me,” EJ says. “Gotta be first in everything.” 

“What’s his name?” the EMT joins them.

“Matt,” EJ supplies. “He lives on my floor.” 

“Okay, Matt,” the paramedic says, addressing the student. His eyes have glazed over slightly again, but he groans in acknowledgement. “My name’s Ryan. I’m an EMT. We’re gonna take you to the hospital, alright?” 

“No,” the student mumbles. 

“We have to, bud,” the EMT says patiently. “You split your lip pretty bad, and it looks like your nose might be broken. What’d you do?” 

“Nothing. I’m not going to the hospital. I’m not going nowhere,” the kid slurs. 

A second EMT, a shorter girl with box braids and a name tag that reads N. Wallace, joins them. “Looks like he’s been drinking,” she notes. “Smells like it, too.” 

“We think he fell on his face,” EJ says. 

“Good guess,” Wallace notes. “What’re the odds those two things are related?”

Ryan continues to try to coax the bleeding student to cooperate, and finally succeeds in getting him to lie back on the stretcher, but he becomes belligerent again when they ask if he has a preference of hospital. 

“I’m not going to the hospital! Let me out!” He moves to sit up. 

“Nyasia, you might wanna get the straps. Just in case,” Ryan advises, trying to settle the student back on the stretcher. He takes a swing at the EMT, but his arm is too limp to pose any real threat. 

“You wanna go, bro?” the kid slurs. 

“Okay,” Nyasia shakes her head. “Didn’t want to have to do this, but you gave us no choice.” She loops the straps around the student, buckling them into place while he thrashes for a few moments, then gives up and lies back, shuddering and groaning in pain. She turns to Ricky, Nini, and EJ. “We got it from here,” she says. “He’ll probably need some stitches, and they’ll need to make sure his nose isn’t broken, but he’ll be okay.” 

They watch as the paramedics wheel the student out on the stretcher. Ricky lets out a breath and feels the tension seep out of his body. 

EJ shoots him a grin and claps him on the shoulder. “Your first real incident,” he says. “And on the first night, too. How’s it feel?” 

He’s surprised that his first instinct is to laugh. His heart is pounding. It almost feels stupid. He didn’t do anything besides call 911. EJ and Nini handled the hard stuff. But still, adrenaline courses through his veins. “I... That was a rush.” 

“Yeah,” EJ beams. “Incidents will do that to you. Especially your first couple. Ride that high as long as you can.” 

Nini rolls her eyes. “Calm down, golden boys,” she snorts. “It was just a medical incident.” 

“What now?” Ricky asks eagerly.

His co fixes him with an incredulous look, and he gets the feeling she expects him to already know this answer, too. “Now we write the report,” she sniffs airily. 

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, they gather in a study room. Nini opens a blank document on her laptop and pulls up her notes on her phone. 

“Nini’s the best report writer on staff,” EJ elaborates, nodding gravely as she squints against the harsh backlight of the screen. 

“I believe it,” Ricky says, his tone devoid of its usual snark and sarcasm.

Nini shakes her head and blinks several times, running a tired hand down her face. “Alright, let’s get this over with. I’m exhausted.”

“This should be quick, right?” Ricky asks. “What’s there to say, really? The dude was drunk, he busted his face open, and then he threatened to fight everybody till the paramedics strapped him down.” 

“We can’t write that,” she says sharply. 

“Personally, I would love to see the look on Ben’s face if he got a report like that,” EJ laughs. 

“What’s wrong with it?” Ricky questions.

“For starters,” Nini says in an exasperated tone, “we can’t say he was drunk.” 

“But he was.”

“You know that, I know that, and anyone who smelled him knows that, but we can’t prove it. We didn’t give him a breathalyzer. This is a  _ legal document _ , Ricky. They could subpoena this and use it in court.” 

He opens his mouth to say something snarky about the odds that either of them will ever be asked to testify in court about an incident, but he thinks better of it. After the way Nini reacted to his jokes at the floor meeting, the last thing he wants is to make her even more upset. 

She seems surprised by his silence as well, but quickly goes back to typing rapidly, her eyes tracking the words that appear on the page. Every so often, she glances at the notes on her phone or asks EJ to recall what someone said. She asks Ricky to summarize the 911 call he placed. When she’s finished, she leans back in her seat and slides the computer toward them. “How’s this look?”

Ricky’s eyes pass over the first paragraph.

_ At approximately 10:45 PM on September 3, Resident Assistants Nina Salazar-Roberts, Richard Bowen, and Eric Caswell were standing in the lobby of East Hall when Resident Matthew Lucas exited the elevator. RAs Salazar-Roberts, Bowen, and Caswell observed that Resident Lucas was bleeding heavily from his face.  _

His eyes glaze over, but EJ keeps reading. Finally, the senior nods in approval. “That is one detailed report,” he says. Ricky has to agree. It sounds and looks way more official than anything he could ever come up with. 

Nini nods and takes the computer back. “Great. I’ll send it to Ben and Jenn and CC you on it.” She starts to type Ricky’s email into the recipient line, then snickers. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” she shakes her head, biting her cheek to keep from laughing. “Just… Richard.” 

He frowns. “What about my name?” 

Nini shakes her head. “You’re just...not a Richard.” 

“Oh, like your name is any better,  _ Nina _ ?” he fires back. 

“What’s so bad about the name Nina?” she challenges. 

“I… Nothing, actually,” he sighs in defeat. “It’s actually a nice name.” 

“That’s what I thought,  _ Richard _ ,” she replies, and for once, there isn’t any real heat behind her tone. 

“Hey, why aren’t we making fun of EJ’s name?” Ricky asks. 

The senior arches a brow at the younger boy. 

“Because.” Nini finishes typing out the email and presses send. “Eric isn’t an old man’s name, unlike yours.” 

“That’s...a good point,” Ricky concedes. 

“I know,” Nini answers, snapping her computer shut. “Good night, Eric. Good night,  _ Richard _ .”

Ricky watches her go, then turns to EJ. “Am I crazy, or was Nini actually acting kinda...friendly to me?” he questions. 

The older boy shrugs. “I don’t think you’re crazy.” 

“Must be the exhaustion,” he reasons. Perhaps it’s even a sign that she’s forgiven him after the floor meeting. Or at least that she's on the way to. Either that, or Nini has well and truly cracked. 

* * *

FROM: Nina Salazar-Roberts <salazar-robertsn1@monroestate.edu>

TO: Benjamin Mazzara <mazzarab@monroestate.edu>, Jennifer Jenn <jennj@monroestate.edu>

CC: Eric Caswell <caswelle3@monroestate.edu>, Richard Bowen <bowenr5@monroestate.edu>

DATE: September 3, 11:57 PM

SUBJECT: Incident Report: Medical Transport

Hi Ben and Jenn,

I’ve attached an incident report for the medical transport that took place tonight. EJ and Ricky are CC’d. Please let us know if you need anything else! 

Have a great night!

Nini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time! Finally, an incident. I wish I could say I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. This incident is basically lifted whole-cloth from one I handled as an RA. (Obviously, names and identifying details have been changed). I'll set the scene: It was my last move-in day as an RA. I was hanging out by the elevator bank with one of my friends on staff and a new RA. It was like midnight. All of a sudden, the door slides open and two kids step out. One is covered in blood and holding hand over his face while the other one is trying to keep him calm. We manage to get the bleeding kid to a seat in the lounge and call for EMS. Meanwhile, we're trying to figure out what happened. He's clearly drunk and combative, arguing with us and refusing to tell us anything. His poor friend is doing his best to calm him down, get him to cooperate, and answer our questions. He claims he fell in the lounge, but we obviously had a feeling his intoxication had something to do with it. 
> 
> Our school had its own police force. While the vast majority of the officers I worked with were kind people with a genuine interest in building community, I'm still a little uncomfortable with the implications of having fully armed police on a college campus, which is why I left them out here. Anyway, police show up with a med kit. The guy threatens to fight the police sergeant. He starts screaming about how he wants medical amnesty. The police officer promises he won't get a citation as long as he doesn't give the paramedics a hard time. All this time, he's barely coherent mind you, and his poor friend (bless his heart) literally has wet paper towels and is trying to wipe his face clean. Finally, the paramedics arrive. The kid threatens to fight them, too, and wants his friend to come along in the ambulance. He can't, since there isn't room, so the kid starts pitching a fit. The poor EMTs had to strap him down. 
> 
> Once they wheeled him off in the stretcher, the police officer offered to drive his friend to the hospital to be with him. Apparently they grew up together. Poor guy. He was trying so hard to be a good friend, and getting no thanks for it. I hope he's having a good day. I heard later that the kid got out of the hospital and apologized to his RA for causing a scene, so that's nice. 
> 
> So yeah, that was an actual incident I dealt with! It was fun combing through my old notes saved on my computer to find the report haha. This definitely won't be the last incident our characters face - I promise, some of them will be beyond belief. Anyway, that's that for this chapter. Stream drivers license. Stream Lie Lie Lie. Be nice to each other, and stay out of the drama! Love y'all!


	5. A Fogged Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back with a brand new chapter! Seriously, y'all, thank you so, so very much for all your kind words and enthusiasm on this story. I've said it before and I'll keep saying it - you're probably the nicest bunch on the internet. Writing this story has been a lot of fun for me - I find myself reflecting a lot on my time as an RA and talking to my friends who worked there with me. It means the world that you're all enjoying the story as much as I'm enjoying telling it.

Seb rolls onto his side as his phone vibrates against the plastic set of drawers that doubles as his nightstand. He reaches out and pulls it closer, angling the screen toward him and squinting against the backlit picture of him and Carlos against a pink sunset on his family’s farm. There’s a text from EJ. He can just make out the words without putting on his glasses.

_ Hey! Going to the gym with Ricky. You in?  _

He frowns. It’s 8:24 on the morning after move-in day, and it’s also the last day before classes start. Any student in their right mind would still be sleeping, trying to get in their last extra hours of rest before the semester begins and all-nighters become inevitable. He wouldn’t even be awake right now were it not for his phone going off. Besides, it’s not like he and EJ are exactly gym buddies. He’s hardly ever set foot in the rec center, despite the exorbitant student fees tacked on to his tuition to help pay for it. The dance studio is more his speed. Quieter, too. 

He starts to tap out a message, politely declining, but stops with his thumb hovering just over the send button. It’s Carlos’s first day at the rec center. His shift started at 8. He remembers because he rolled over at 7:45, sent his boyfriend a good luck text, and then went back to sleep. A slow smile spreads across his face, and he backspaces the text. 

_ Sure. Just need a few minutes to get ready _

EJ’s response is almost instantaneous. 

_ Great! Meet you in the lobby in 15 _

Fifteen minutes later, he finds his coworkers standing in the lounge. EJ is dressed in a black, sleeveless muscle t-shirt and silver basketball shorts, a gallon-sized water bottle dangling from its loop in his hand. Ricky looks like he just rolled out of bed. His hair sticks up at odd angles and his blue t-shirt is crushed. He unscrews the cap of a red Gatorade bottle and takes a swig, then waves at Seb. 

EJ looks up, his face brightening. “There you are! C’mon,” he jerks his head in the direction of the door, and the trio sets off for the rec center. 

The rec center is sleek and modern, its all-glass front allowing bright sunlight to spill into the lobby. The smell of chlorine drifts from the pool, and the sound of various exercise machines slamming, cranking, and whirring echoes from the second floor. Seb looks around for any sign of Carlos. He’s not at the swipe-in desk, where a smiling, bright-eyed girl asks them to swipe their student IDs for entry. He’s not at the juice bar, either, where a few guys with towels around their necks perch on stools, sipping smoothies and talking quietly with the blonde behind the counter. 

_ Maybe he’s stocking towels.  _

He follows EJ and Ricky upstairs to the indoor track, which is suspended above the basketball court and runs around its perimeter. EJ puts his water bottle down on the ground by the door and begins to stretch out while Seb saunters to the track’s edge, peering through the netting that keeps any stray basketballs from concussing the runners. Four guys are playing a pickup game down below. The ball issues a resounding  _ thud, thud, thud  _ each time it glances off the gleaming wood floors. Still no sign of Carlos. He shrugs and rejoins his friends, easily dropping into a near-perfect split to warm up while Ricky and EJ look on in awe.

They finish their run a half hour later, and Seb has to admit that he’s glad he came along. His limbs are warm and fired-up. He feels alert and productive. EJ’s breathing is quick, and a sheen of sweat glistens on his face. Ricky’s breathing is much harder, and there’s a hint of redness in his cheeks as he gulps his Gatorade. 

“Wanna try the rowing machines?” EJ asks, sipping his water as he stretches out his hamstrings. 

Seb shakes his head. “I have a dance rehearsal later tonight. I don’t wanna overdo it. You guys have fun, though.” 

The senior turns to Ricky. “Looks like it’s just you and me.” 

Seb leaves his friends on the second floor, making his way back downstairs. He glimpses Carlos piling freshly-folded towels into a bin at the front desk, chatting idly with the smiley girl who swiped them in, and makes his way over to them. 

“Hey,” he says, sidling up beside his boyfriend. 

Carlos starts, then turns around, immediately relaxing when he processes Seb standing before him. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his tone surprised and elated in equal measure.

The blond shrugs. “EJ invited me to join him and Ricky for a run. And I kinda wanted to see my man hard at work.” 

Carlos dips his head shyly, darting his eyes surreptitiously around the room, as if someone might be watching. “There’s...really nothing to see. It’s not that hard,” he says. “Or exciting. All I’ve done is throw sweaty towels in a washing machine and take clean ones out.” 

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Seb answers easily. “And besides. I would watch you do anything. You know I love a man in uniform.” He gestures to the bright green polo shirt with Monroe State Campus Rec embroidered over the right breast. Carlos’s nametag is pinned on the left side: a white, plastic plate that reads CARLOS RODRIGUEZ, FACILITIES ATTENDANT. 

“Babe,” Carlos whines. His tone is playful, but Seb can’t help but notice that his voice has dropped in volume considerably. “I’m on the clock! Stop flirting,” he hisses. 

“Fine,” Seb grins, throwing his hands up. “I’ll admire you from afar.” 

“No one said you had to go anywhere,” Carlos counters. “You just can’t distract me from my work anymore.”

The blond’s smile grows wider. “You’ll hardly notice I’m here.” 

* * *

“You know,” Ricky pants, pulling on the cord and sliding backwards on the rowing machine, “I never...knew...how...to work...these things.” With each tug, he lets out a heavy exhale. He can feel the sweat building on his brow, and more than a few curls now dangle into his eyes, matted down from the exertion. 

“It’s a full-body workout,” EJ says, keeping pace on the machine beside him. 

With a final pull, Ricky feels his arms start to give out and brings the machine to a halt. His biceps are screaming, and when he tries to stand up, his legs feel unsteady, like he’s walking on bendy straws. EJ doesn’t break his pace. “How are you still going?” the younger boy marvels, draining the last of his Gatorade. 

EJ slows himself to a gentle stop and shrugs as he climbs off. “I’m co-captain of the crew team,” he says simply. “This is nothing.” 

“I didn’t even know we had a crew team,” Ricky murmurs. 

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my first choice. I played water polo in high school, but there’s no team for that here.” 

The junior brightens. “We should start an intramural league,” he says. He doesn’t know the first thing about water polo, but it can’t be any harder than working his limbs to numb exhaustion on the rowing machine. Besides, it feels like the right thing to say. 

EJ smiles. “That’s...actually not a bad idea.” 

* * *

“Oh. My. God,” Nini mumbles, drawing to a stop as she takes in the line that stretches from the bookstore entrance all the way around the corner. Gina and Ashlyn come to a halt beside her. 

“In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to pick up our textbooks at the same time as everyone else,” Ashlyn says. 

“Well, we’re already here,” Gina says with resignation. “Besides, not like I’ve got anything to do today.” 

Nini frowns. She doesn’t need to pick up her textbooks. She’d ordered them over the summer, and they’d arrived at her moms’ doorstep in bright orange boxes long before she made her way back to campus. She could go back to her room and finish putting away the last of her belongings. Maybe she can even get a headstart on some of her reading assignments. But she would feel bad leaving her friends to wait here by themselves. And besides, she doesn’t really have anything better to do until Kourtney arrives later anyway. 

The bookstore pickup window is overrun, and three harried-looking students dart back and forth, bringing piles of books to the pass and asking students to sign for them. It takes them nearly an hour to reach the front of the line and, after spending all day on her feet yesterday, Nini can already feel her ankles starting to protest. 

“Next,” the lanky, brown-haired boy at the window calls, his voice weary. 

Ashlyn steps up to the window. “Hi! Ashlyn Caswell,” she says, sliding a textbook onto the counter. “I’m returning this and picking up four more.” 

“Great,” the boy says witheringly. “Gimme a sec.” He disappears behind a door. 

“I’m gonna look around the store,” Nini announces. “Catch up with you guys in a few?” She saunters through the aisles of school spiritwear, perusing the shelves of hooded sweatshirts and baseball caps and baby onesies, all with Monroe State University plastered across the front, along with their leopard mascot. She absent-mindedly runs her hand over a t-shirt. Her eyebrows shoot up when she sees the $35 price tag. 

She eventually - inevitably - finds herself in the book aisle, browsing through the stacks of novels being taught in courses she didn’t sign up for. Her reading list grows with each aisle she wanders through. She regrets not signing up for the Dystopian Literature course, and the Asian-American Literature course, and the Women Writers of the 20th Century course. Not that she would be willing to drop any of the classes she already decided to take. 

“There you are!” Ashlyn says, striding down the aisle with a bag full of textbooks. “I thought you got your textbooks already?” 

“Just window shopping,” Nini says. 

Ashlyn scans the titles on the shelves. “You know you could get most of this from the library, right?” 

“I know,” Nini sighs. Ash is right, of course. All of these titles are readily available in the library, and her student fees already cover membership there. But she can’t make notes in a library book. She can’t highlight and underline the sentences that stand out to her, in the hopes that maybe if she highlights enough, she’ll absorb the prose by osmosis and finally produce something worth reading on her own. 

Gina joins them a few minutes later, brandishing a plastic shopping bag along with her books.

“What’s in the bag?” Ashlyn questions.

“Just a little something to say thank you for all the help you both have given me,” she says modestly.

Ashlyn’s brows furrow. “You didn’t have to get us anything, Gina,” she says. “Seriously, we’re happy to help.” 

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t show my appreciation anyway.” The sophomore reaches into the bag and pulls out two red t-shirts, handing one to each of her coworkers. Nini unfurls the shirt and holds it against herself, looking down to read the words on the front.

_ Monroe State Mom _

She lets out a laugh. 

“It felt right,” Gina explains. “Since I got here, you’ve both pretty much been raising me to be a good RA. I got EJ a Monroe State Dad hat, too.” 

Ashlyn giggles, folding the girl into a hug. “It’s perfect. You’ve made your mamas proud.” 

* * *

Nini raps on the door three times. Kourtney’s name is spelled out in loopy, whimsical letters that she instantly recognizes as Ashlyn’s handwriting. The door pulls back to reveal her best friend, wearing a pair of jeans and a purple t-shirt. Her curly blonde hair looks recently dyed, and it is swept back in a silk headband that matches her shirt. Her eyes light up the minute she sees her.

“Neeners!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around Nini. 

“Kourt! Thank god you’re finally here,” Nini exults. 

“As if we didn’t just see each other a week ago,” Kourtney says with a smile, pulling her into the room. 

“Yeah, but it’s been a  _ week _ ,” Nini sighs. The door thuds shut behind them, and she saunters further into Kourtney’s room. A plug-in air freshener fills the room with the scent of warm vanilla. Kourtney’s bed is already spread with a black-and-pink polka dot comforter, turned down to reveal the pale pink sheets underneath. A hot pink, soft-sided ottoman and a matching rug are positioned beside the bed, and the wall is covered in chic, minimalist prints of dark-skinned women in fashionable outfits against pastel backgrounds. The poster above the headboard says WORK HARD, STAY HUMBLE in glittery gold letters. The other side of the room is completely bare.

“Where’s your roommate?” Nini frowns. 

Kourtney shrugs. “Her flight got delayed. She’s not getting here till tonight.”

“I hope she’s nice.” 

“I hope she’s  _ neat _ ,” Kourtney answers.

Nini shudders at the memory of Kourtney’s previous roommate, who’d left her side of the room in such a messy state that it had actually become a fire hazard. The floor had almost entirely disappeared under a mountain of clothes and old food wrappers, and Kourtney had spent most of her time in Nini’s room as a result. Ben and Jenn had finally staged an intervention with someone from counseling services, and while she was a lot less messy after that, the dust bunnies and lingering stale odor never totally went away.

“As long as she doesn’t leave used tampons on the sink counter like the last one, I think we’ll be fine,” her best friend continues, crossing the room and retrieving a teal suitcase. She places it on the bed and begins pulling out articles of clothing, piling them on the comforter to be refolded. 

“Need some help?” Nini offers. 

Kourtney smiles sweetly. “Well since you offered,” she says, “maybe you could arrange my closet for me? It always looks better when you do it.” 

“Sure,” she says, making her way over to the small alcove at the front of the room, where two closet rods hang down from a wide, wire shelf. A half-height wall separates the space into two separate areas - one for Kourtney, and one for her roommate. She’ll have to cram to make everything fit. Her best friend is the definition of an overpacker. She briefly considers offering up space in her closet. It’s pretty bare, after all, and she’s taken to spreading the hangers out to give it the illusion of fullness. “Do you want me to sort by color or style?” 

“Surprise me,” Kourtney says, crossing the room and depositing an armload of dresses in Nini’s arms, causing her to stagger momentarily under the mountain of fabric. “So, how’s your new co situation working out now?” she asks. 

“Ugh,” Nini grumbles, slipping the dresses onto velvet hangers and arranging them by color, pausing to consider whether to place the red-and-white jumper with the red clothes or the white ones. She proceeds to recount the previous two days to Kourtney: the live simulations, the way Ricky fled the room mid-scene, and the disastrous floor meeting. “And he ended the floor meeting by telling our residents that he’s a cooler RA than me,” she rolls her eyes. “Can you believe that?” She tries to force the woundedness from her tone. “Not that I care or anything but…” 

“Seriously?” Kourtney says disdainfully. “He said he’s  _ cooler  _ than you? What is this, sixth grade? The boy’s lucky I wasn’t there or I would’ve given him a piece of my mind.”

“Thanks, Kourt,” Nini sighs. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is a sixth grade insult, and maybe she is acting like a sixth grader by letting it get to her. But something about the whole exchange hasn’t stopped eating at her since last night. Perhaps it was the ease with which Ricky said it. As if it were obvious. He’s the fun RA, and she’s a glorified meter maid handing out citations for every minor offense committed in their halls. How will a single resident trust her now?

“Did you talk to your bosses about it?” 

“No,” she shakes her head. 

“You should. Make them realize it was a mistake to hire him in the first place. Maybe they’ll replace him with someone better.” 

“I don’t want to get him fired,” Nini says carefully. Ricky would lose housing if he got fired, and his name would go to the bottom of the waiting list for open spaces. It would basically end his semester. Maybe even his whole junior year. Especially since he’s from Chicago. Off-campus apartments aren’t cheap.

“I do,” Kourtney says indignantly. 

“No, Kourt,” Nini protests. “I mean, yeah he sucks and yeah, he undermined me. But getting him fired is a little overboard, don’t you think? Besides, something about the way he acted during live sims…” 

“Oh, don’t tell me he has a heart of gold or something,  _ please _ ,” Kourtney says. “You do this every time!” 

“Do what?” 

“You let people walk all over you, and then when you’re finally in a position to do something about it, you ‘take the high road’ and let it slide, and they learn nothing. Remember that whole issue you had with the paper’s editorial board last year? You basically did everything yourself, and you weren’t even an official member! I love you, Neeners, but I’m not about to let you be somebody’s doormat again.” 

Nini feels a flicker of anger pulse through her. She frowns, her fingers arrested halfway through straightening the hem of a bright yellow dress. Nini Salazar-Roberts is  _ not  _ a doormat, despite Kourtney’s protests to the contrary. But then again, maybe she has a point. For all her complaints about flakey group project partners and editors who were more than happy to push the work onto her without giving her credit, she never did confront them. It was easier to suck it up, and it inevitably worked out fine in the end. When she looks up, her best friend is standing in front of her. 

“I’m sorry,” Kourtney says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just frustrating because you’ve got so much going for you, Neens! You’re smart. You’re talented. You’re gorgeous and hardworking. And you’re the best damn RA in this building. And I’m tired of watching other people walk all over you.” 

“I know,” she says with a weary sigh, turning back to the closet. She hooks the hanger over the rod. She isn’t sure what she knows, though. That Kourtney’s right, maybe. That she’s spent most of her life accommodating others. That given the chance, she would bend over backwards to avoid a confrontation. But she also knows that there are two sides to Ricky, and she’s glimpsed both. She knows that during the live simulation, he spoke softly and gently to her, with enough sincerity that it almost broke her heart. And she knows that the look that passed over his face - terror and nausea and the wide eyes of a fearful child - was genuine. She almost wishes she’d been the one to find Ricky afterwards. Ashlyn, citing ‘cry chair confidentiality,’ hasn’t breathed a word about what he said to her, and she gets the feeling that whatever it was would have given her a little more insight into why her co got overwhelmed at what should have been a straightforward scene. 

But at the same time, she knows that the same Ricky can be an enormous pain in the ass when he wants to be, which seems to be most of the time. He’s laid back and cavalier. He hasn’t thought a single thing through yet. He has a fake ID and waits until the last possible second to get his door tags done. And he’s too wrapped up in making people laugh to realize when she’s just trying to help.  _ God he’s frustrating. _

* * *

Ricky frowns at the sealed cardboard box in his hands. It’s weighty, with his name and room number on the shipping label. Seb brought it up, cheerfully handing it to him when he opened the door. 

“It’s a care package,” he had said. “The university sells them every year. People can order them and have them delivered to residents after move-in.” 

Ricky knew this, of course. Big Red had received countless care packages from his parents, his grandma, his aunt and uncle in Boca. They were filled with ramen noodles and Sour Patch Kids and hand sanitizers and sample-sized shampoos and shower gels, and he’d inevitably split the treasures with Ricky when it became clear he wouldn’t be able to use all of it up. But still. He’s never received a care package before. 

He carefully cuts the tape along the seal and pries back the flaps of the box. Amid the packing peanuts, he can see a Snickers bar sticking out and what looks to be some kind of energy drink. A folded slip of paper is tucked into one corner. He seizes it and unfolds it, his eyes scanning the message to see who sent it. 

_ Congratulations on your new job! We’re so proud of you! _

_ Love,  _

_ Mom and Todd _

Ricky’s heart skips a beat. His mom is hardly the care package type. In fact, she hasn’t sent him any mail at all since he started school. If he needed something, she would cheerfully reply that he could come get it the next time he was home, as if driving thirteen hours back to Chicago was no big deal. He’d always suspected it was her way of getting him to come home for breaks. Even she must’ve known that given the choice, he would stay on the East Coast as long as possible. 

Todd, on the other hand, is  _ exactly  _ the type of person to send care packages. He’s the type to send fruit baskets and flowers to friends and relatives and coworkers when they get out of the hospital. He still mails birthday cards to people every year, even though texting would be much quicker. His mom calls it sentimental and charming. Ricky calls it cringe-inducingly fake. A sales tactic. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out whose idea it was to send him this care package. He carries it down the hall and deposits it down the garbage chute without a second glance.

* * *

Nini is already at the front desk when Ricky arrives to pick up his duty phone. 

“Oh,” Nini says when she spots him, and the look on her face is unmistakably disappointed. 

He smirks. “Try not to look so excited to see me,” he says smoothly, grabbing the duty phone off the counter. 

“I didn’t realize we were on together. That’s all,” she says coolly. “What time do you wanna do rounds?” 

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Ricky shrugs. “I’ve got nothing going on tonight.” He hadn’t asked to be put on shift tonight. In fact, he’d have preferred not to be. It’s the last night before classes start. He should be out having fun and enjoying his last hours of freedom before junior year. But Ben had insisted that new staff be on duty with experienced coworkers for the first few nights. “Wanna do the first one at 9?” 

“Can we do 9:30?” Nini counters. “I’m trying to get a head start on a reading assignment and I don’t wanna get interrupted in the middle.” 

Ricky opens his mouth, a dozen snipes on the tip of his tongue. Nini turns to him expectantly and casts him a withering glance. He’s reminded of how stung she looked after he pushed too far at the floor meeting, and the taunt dies on his lips. He closes his mouth and offers her a curt, silent nod instead. She furrows her brow, puzzled, as he turns wordlessly and heads back to his room.

* * *

“Dude, your room is huge!” Big Red gushes, standing in the center of the floor and spinning a full 360 degrees to take it all in. 

“It’s the same size as yours,” Ricky points out, picking up the last of his dirty laundry and depositing it in the mesh hamper that he finally discovered amid a box of dryer sheets and power strips. “It just feels bigger since I have it all to myself.” 

“Whatever the reason,” Red says, flopping down on the armchair, “It’s awesome.” 

Ricky feels inclined to disagree. Big Red’s room has color-changing LED lights in the window and a beanbag chair. His looks more like a prison cell. The floor is still littered with half-empty boxes, and every wall is bare and white and soulless. He hasn’t even unfurled the rug yet. It stands ominously in one corner, still rolled up. 

“I’m definitely hanging out here from now on,” Red continues. It doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Ricky wonders what the guest policy is for RAs. He wouldn’t really mind having his best friend around most of the time. At least it would feel a bit less lonely. “You set up your Xbox yet?” 

“Not yet. You wanna do it?” 

The redhead holds his hand out, and Ricky deposits the controller in his palm. “So how’s it going with you and your co?” he asks, crossing over to the TV and fiddling with the wires. 

“Weird,” Ricky replies, pretending to enthral himself with a stack of papers on his desk. He shuffles them, then reshuffles them. 

“Weird?” his best friend presses.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “She’s hot and cold. Like, one minute she’s giving me dirty looks and the next, she’s almost...nice?” 

“I thought she hated you,” the redhead says, unplugging the HDMI cable and plugging it back in. The TV displays a picture. 

“I thought so, too,” Ricky says. “And don’t get me wrong, she definitely hates me most of the time. But then sometimes she’ll seem like she’s warming up to me. Like during live sims. We were acting, but some part of it felt real, you know? Like it wasn’t just for the training scenario. It was almost like we were having a moment. Or last night. We had an incident, and afterwards, she poked fun at my name, and I poked fun at hers, and she  _ actually  _ laughed.” 

“Well that’s good, right?” Big Red replies, flicking through various menus on the Xbox home screen. 

“I guess. But there’s other times where she’s just  _ such  _ a control freak and it drives me crazy. I know you weren’t at the floor meeting yesterday, but she actually tried to script me. Like what’s that about?” 

“Maybe,” Red replies slowly, “and just hear me out on this. But  _ maybe  _ she was just trying to help you.” 

“How is scripting me gonna help?” 

“So you don’t have to come up with what to say on the fly.”

“I’m great at coming up with stuff on the fly.” 

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t know if a floor meeting is exactly the place to do that,” Red says, pressing the controller back into his hand. 

Ricky considers his words. Maybe Big Red is right. Maybe Nini really was just trying to help, in her own, misguided, control freak way. But still. “She should’ve had more faith in me,” he grouses. “Not that it matters anyway. I got her back.” 

Big Red shoots him a concerned look. 

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s not like I did anything to hurt her. I just made a couple of jokes at her expense…” 

“Dude!” 

“What?”

“That’s not cool,” Red says, dropping into the armchair once more. 

“I just wanted to prove to her that she can’t control everything,” Ricky protests. “It’s my floor, too, and she can’t just steamroll over me every time she disagrees.” 

“I get it,” his best friend says carefully. “But are you sure that was the best move? Especially since you’re on thin ice with her already?” 

Ricky drops his eyes to the floor, searching the thin grout lines in the tile guiltily. “Maybe not,” he admits after a moment. “I think I might’ve taken it too far. And now I’m on duty with her, so we’ll see how that goes.” 

“Dude, just promise you won’t poke the bear tonight. Your room is sweet, and if you get murdered, I won’t be able to hang out here anymore.” 

“I promise,” he says. “Just gotta get through tonight, and hopefully I won’t have to see her for a while after that.”

* * *

Rounds pass in awkward silence. Nini walks briskly, always two paces ahead of him with her clipboard tucked under one arm. For such a small girl, she moves quickly, and Ricky finds himself striding to keep up. She only slows down to check the windows in the lounge and to open the garbage room doors to inspect inside. He trails behind her wordlessly, occasionally glancing at his phone, wondering how she could possibly scan for damages so quickly. Somehow, she catches a bent leg on a sofa in EJ and Gina’s lounge, and notices that a chair is missing from a study room. She notes both and continues on, murmuring to Ricky that she’ll email Ben and Jenn in the morning to notify them. 

“So,” Ricky says after their second round of the night, shifting from one foot to the other as they stand in the lounge that separates their halls. “I guess that’s it, then?” 

“Yeah,” Nini says, her voice rushed and almost breathless. 

He nods hesitantly. “Okay. Good night?” 

“Night,” she answers, starting for her wing. She pauses mid-step and turns around. “If anything happens, just call me,” she adds, holding up the duty phone. 

“Same,” Ricky says. She gives him a curt nod and lingers just a moment longer before vanishing down her hall.

Big Red leaves by midnight, yawning sleepily and complaining about an early start the next day. Ricky considers reminding him that his first class isn’t until 12:30, but holds his tongue and promises to text his best friend in the morning.

A half hour later, he lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Like everything else in the room, it is a dull, flat white color. The blinds are shut, but just enough light from the streetlamps filters in from outside, bathing the room in a hazy, blue-white glow. A door slams in the hallway, and he can hear giggling as footsteps recede toward the lounge. He shifts, uncomfortably aware of the noise his body makes as it moves against the sheets. Back when he was rooming with Big Red, the CPAP and white noise machines were all he could hear at night. There’s so much more  _ life  _ in a dorm than he ever realized, and it never stops. No matter the hour, someone’s awake. Lying in the dark of his own room, though, he feels more closed off from it than ever. He’d assumed he would sleep easier now that the rooms are all occupied, and he’d thought that was true after having the best sleep of his life yesterday. But now, without the exhaustion of move-in day to knock him out, he wonders if he might have been mistaken all along. 

The duty phone rings, and he jumps. He hadn’t heard the ringtone up until this point: a shrill, vintage telephone noise that pierces the room and echoes off his bare walls. It takes a few seconds for his heart to resume beating, and he fumbles for the phone in the dark. When his hand finally grips the device, he flips it open, draws in a shaky breath, and mumbles, “Hello?” 

“Hey,” Nini’s voice is breathless on the other end of the line, her voice thick like she just woke up. He can almost picture her, bleary-eyed and half-awake, flyaway hairs sticking out in all directions. “I just got a call. A girl in 603 called the front desk saying she’s having trouble breathing.” 

It takes Ricky a minute to put the information together, but when he does, he’s wide awake and practically springing out of bed. “I’m heading up,” he says. 

“Okay. Meet you there.” 

The line clicks and Ricky gropes along the wall for the lightswitch, flooding the room with incandescent light as he pulls his sneakers on, not bothering to tighten the laces. He tucks the duty phone, his own phone, and his key in his pocket and catches a brief glimpse of himself in the mirror on his way out the door. There’s definitely no mistaking the fact that he was lying in bed when he got the call. His hair is pillow-mussed, and dark bags pull his eyes downward. He jogs to the stairwell and takes the steps two-at-a-time. 

Nini is standing in the six hundred wing when he arrives. She nods in acknowledgement when she spots him, then knocks on the door. “Res life,” she says, her voice caught halfway between conversation volume and an urgent yell. 

The door pulls back a moment later to reveal a small, slight girl with dark, shoulder-length hair. She looks ready for bed, dressed in a black tank top and a gray pair of sleep shorts. Ricky notices right away that her face seems a little puffy. Subtle red splotches appear on her tan skin.

“You called?” Nini asks. 

The girl nods. 

“Can you tell us your name?” she asks, at the same time that Ricky asks, “What happened?” 

The girl looks between the two of them, as if trying to process both questions at once. 

“Start with your name,” Ricky suggests softly. 

“Lauryn,” she says. Her voice is slightly raspy, and she pushes down on her chest subconsciously. 

“Can we come in, Lauryn?” Nini asks, imitating Ricky’s gentle tone. 

The girl nods, and the two RAs step over the threshold into the room. It’s dim. The only light in the room comes from a lamp on the desk, and it’s apparent that neither resident is fully moved in yet, given the boxes and crates pushed up against the walls. 

“Is your roommate here?” Ricky asks. 

Lauryn shakes her head. “She went out to some party off-campus. I was supposed to go with her but I wasn’t feeling well. Something in the dining hall didn’t agree with me.” She sits down on the edge of her bed, scratching her cheek. 

“Are you allergic to anything?” Ricky asks. “Maybe something you ate?” 

“No,” Lauryn frowns. “We ate a couple hours ago and I felt fine after. But when we were getting ready, I started getting indigestion.” 

Ricky looks pensive for a moment, his eyes darting around the room as if they might alight on an answer at any second. Nini watches him, her mind racing. Could indigestion cause difficulty breathing? She doubts it, and the way the girl is scratching at her arm suggests the boy might be onto something by asking about her allergies. She racks her brain for an idea, trying to figure out what to do, and comes up blank each time. She feels frustratingly paralyzed. Ask her to mediate a roommate conflict and she’s fine. Ask her to take notes as the incident unfolds, and she can do it with ease. But this is something different. She wishes EJ were with them this time, too. He’d know what to do. Ricky’s voice pulls her from her thoughts. 

He’s squatting beside Lauryn now, and the girl’s breathing has become steadily more labored. “Nini, can you call an ambulance?” he asks. His voice is firm and urgent, but not as panicked as she feels as she realizes what’s happening. She nods mutely and fumbles for the duty phone, dialing 911 almost automatically. 

“Did you take any medicine or anything?” Ricky asks, his voice rising an octave. 

“Just some antacids that my roommate gave me,” Lauryn says. Her voice sounds tight. 

“Are you allergic to any medicines?” 

“Just aspirin,” the girl replies. 

Ricky rises to his feet, his gaze frantically scanning until he sees the bottle of antacids on the sink counter. He snatches it, skimming the ingredients label as Nini relays their location and tells the dispatcher they think the girl might be having an allergic reaction. “Got it,” Ricky says after a few seconds, rattling the bottle. “Aspirin. Lauryn, do you have an EpiPen?” 

“In my desk. Top drawer,” she says, pointing. 

Ricky rummages in the desk drawer and pulls out the EpiPen. He uncaps the tube and crosses back to Lauryn’s side. Nini watches in awe as he helps the girl guide the injector to her thigh, then removes the safety cap for her and helps her press it into her skin. After a few seconds, Lauryn removes the injector and begins to draw in deep breaths. 

Ricky looks just as shocked as Nini feels. His mouth hangs open, his eyes are wide, and he lets out a surprised half-laugh as the girl visibly relaxes. “Did...Did it work?” he asks.

“I think so,” Lauryn replies. She thinks for a moment. “I never knew antacids could even contain aspirin,” she says, shaking her head with a wan smile. 

The paramedics arrive a moment later. Nini recognizes one of them - the girl with box braids who responded last night, Nyasia - leads a wiry, red-headed boy with thick glasses into the room. 

“We found her EpiPen,” Ricky says, stepping back to let the EMTs take over. “She’s allergic to aspirin.”

“Good call,” Nyasia praises, turning to them both. “We’ve got it from here. We’ll take her to the ER to get checked out.” 

Lauryn murmurs a faint ‘thank you’ as the paramedics wheel her off in a stretcher. Ricky and Nini step out of the room, letting the door shut behind them. Nini immediately turns to her co. “How’d you know what to do?” she asks, unable to hide the astonishment in her voice. 

Ricky looks dazed, as if he’s just as shocked. “My best friend,” he says. “He’s allergic to a bunch of things. I’ve had to give him his EpiPen before.” 

“You saved that girl’s life, Ricky,” she says, just in case he wasn’t aware. She can hardly believe it herself. 

“The EMTs would’ve figured it out,” he deflects, but his lips curve up into a proud smile nonetheless. “Do we have to write a report for this, too?” 

“Definitely,” Nini nods, mirroring his smile. “I’ll get my laptop.” She starts for the elevator, turning to glance back at her before the doors slide shut. He looks different somehow, standing in the middle of the hallway, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. Or perhaps she hadn’t seen him clearly until now. But as the elevator starts to descend, she gets the sense she’s been looking at Ricky through a fogged mirror. Only now is the image starting to become clear.

* * *

FROM: Nina Salazar-Roberts <salazar-robertsn1@monroestate.edu>

TO: Benjamin Mazzara <mazzarab@monroestate.edu>, Jennifer Jenn <jennj@monroestate.edu>

CC: Richard Bowen <bowenr5@monroestate.edu>

DATE: September 4, 1:16 AM

SUBJECT: Incident Report: Allergic Reaction

Hi Ben and Jenn,

I’ve attached an incident report for an allergic reaction that took place in room 603 tonight. Ricky is CC’d. Please let us know if you need anything else!

Have a great night!

Nini

PS: The top floor lounge has a sofa with a bent leg and one of the study rooms is missing a chair. Just thought I’d mention it since I’m already emailing you both!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time! Medical calls were by far the most common thing I responded to as an RA. Any time EMS was called, whether a resident called 911 on their own, or they called the front desk for help, we had to respond, too. This incident isn't based off of a single incident I addressed, but it's sort of a combination of several. My first call ever as an RA actually happened two days before move-in, when a resident who moved in early for an on-campus job had an allergic reaction to some medication they were taking. It was a little different, however, because this particular resident had an allergic reaction the first time they took the medicine, then - against medical advice - continued to take the medication until they were nearly in anaphylactic shock. They were also going to wait for their parent to drive 2 hours to come pick them up and take them to a hospital, but when their throat started closing up we made the executive decision to call an ambulance. I think they were trying to avoid having to pay the ridiculous ambulance fees most places charge. Thankfully, our student fees covered the cost of medical transport for students. 
> 
> In my time, I also dealt with a possible burst appendix, students with horrific cramps, and a major fall that may or may not serve as inspiration for a future chapter. The one thing that isn't realistic here would be Ricky helping the student administer her EpiPen. Technically speaking, even RAs who are first aid/CPR trained like I am weren't supposed to ever touch a resident. Something about liability - basically, if we did it wrong, the student could sue the department. Obviously, if I ever actually saw a resident in need of first aid or CPR, I would've done it anyway. I included it here for the added ~flavor~
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter! Things are definitely approaching a turning point for Ricky and Nini, but you know what they say. One step forward, two steps back and all... I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> PS - Roommates leaving used tampons on the sink counter? I wish I made that up, but it's an actual thing that actually happened to one of my friends 🤢


	6. Things Half Seen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! I know I say this all the time, but I will never stop expressing my gratitude to all of you. I love reading your comments, seeing how you relate to these characters, and hearing all about your own college experiences! I hope you'll love this chapter, too!

Music theory is, quite possibly, the most boring class ever invented. Why would anyone want to sit and theorize about music? What’s the fun in picking a song apart, breaking it into elements like it’s a lab specimen? Music is meant to be felt, and the real joy is in playing it. But music theory is a required part of his program, so Ricky finds himself sitting in an uncomfortably hard chair in a windowless interior classroom at 9 AM, bouncing his leg as he traces spirals in his notebook, all but tuning the professor out. 

He regrets leaving this class for so late into his degree. He should’ve taken it a year ago, like his advisor recommended. But he’d been too eager to take his piano classes, his voice classes, his guitar and music production classes. So now he’s in a 200 level class with a bunch of nervous freshmen and a handful of bored sophomores. 

By the time he emerges from the depths of the classroom at noon, he can barely keep his eyes open. He’s pretty sure the jaundice yellow shade of the classroom walls is permanently seared into his eyeballs, and he lets out a long yawn as he squints in the daylight filtering through the music building’s windows. Students scurry around him, weighed down with instrument cases and canvases. 

“Ricky? Is that you?” a voice calls out from behind. 

He wheels around to find Seb hurrying toward him, a duffel bag dangling low and loose over his shoulder, bouncing against his leg with each step. 

Ricky smiles as the blond approaches. “Hi.” This is new. Outside of his classmates, he isn’t used to encountering people he knows in the arts building. 

“Hey! I thought that was you,” Seb says without missing a beat. “Just get out of class?” 

“Yeah. Music theory,” Ricky replies with thinly disguised disdain. “Longest three hours of my life.” 

“I dunno. I’d take three hours of music theory over my dance intensive,” Seb laughs. “I came early to grab a smoothie. Wanna join me?” 

Ricky considers the invitation. He technically has homework to do - apparently, Professor Larsen is unfamiliar with the concept of syllabus week - but the class was already enough to almost put him to sleep. Going back to his room and trying to do homework now would definitely knock him out. Besides, of all his coworkers, he’s gotten to know Seb least. He’d like for that to change. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says amicably. 

* * *

The Jitterbug is one of Monroe State’s best-kept secrets, tucked deep into the basement of the arts building.The little cafe’s brightly illuminated sign glows like a beacon against the dim lighting and gray walls, drawing students like moths to a flame. The abstract prints on the walls - all rich, bright spirals that evoke musical staffs - and blonde wood chairs with rich, red upholstery radiate a cozy aura of warmth. The barista - Rita - recognizes Ricky the moment he steps into the cafe and begins preparing his standard mocha latte with extra chocolate sauce and a caramel drizzle. Seb orders a strawberry banana smoothie and they grab a small table in the corner. Seb moves the napkin dispenser between them and sets his cup down. 

“So how’ve your first couple days been?” the blond inquires politely, pulling a napkin from the holder and using it to mop up the small pool of condensation already forming on the side of his cup. He leans forward and takes a sip through the straw.

“Not bad,” Ricky says lightly. “I’ve already had two incidents.” 

“I heard,” Seb answers with a bemused smirk. “Tends to happen when you hang around EJ. He’s like an incident magnet. But I also heard you handled them pretty well.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah. Nini told me.” He says it simply, like it’s no big deal that Ricky’s co, who hates his guts, would compliment his incident response. 

Ricky pauses mid-sip, his brow creasing as he processes this new piece of information. He almost doesn’t believe it. Perhaps Seb is making it up to make him feel better. It was probably EJ who told him all about it. But then again, EJ wasn’t with them when Lauryn was having an allergic reaction.

_ Nini said I handled things pretty well?  _ So his co has been talking about him, and for once, it isn’t to criticize everything he does. She probably said it begrudgingly, in an “even-a-broken-clock-is-right-twice-a-day” tone. But praise is praise, and if nothing else, even Nini has to acknowledge by now that he’s not a total screw-up. The idea brings him a measure of pride and satisfaction. 

“Anyway,” Seb shrugs, darting his gaze casually around the cafe. “Just thought you should know. Seems like you’re shaping up to be a pretty great RA.” 

“Thanks,” Ricky murmurs distractedly, his eyes searching the black lid of his coffee cup, tracing over each letter of the Caution! Hot contents! warning without reading them. He drums his fingers against the sticky table top, tipping his chair back on its hind legs.

“I’m glad I bumped into you,” Seb says after a minute, if only to fill the silence. “Normally I order to go and then sit outside the studio till my class starts. It’s nice to have a familiar face around.” 

“Yeah,” Ricky brightens. “I usually don’t hang around after class, either. Actually, I think this is probably the only time I’ve actually sat down in here.” 

“I have my dance intensive every Tuesday and Friday,” Seb says. “We could make this a regular thing,” he suggests. 

“I’d like that.” Ricky smiles and takes another pull from his cup. The saccharine sweetness of the chocolate sauce washes over his tongue, and his stomach swells with a warm feeling. It occurs to him that he knows next-to-nothing about his coworker and new friend. He knows Seb is a dance major, and he vaguely remembers something about a psychology major, as well. He knows he runs the LGBTQ+ floor, and that’s about it. But he wants to know more. “So…” he says, starting the sentence before he even knows what he’s going to say. “Where are you from?” 

“Massachusetts,” Seb says cheerfully. 

“Oh,” Ricky says. “Like, Boston or…?” He trails off. It occurs to him that he doesn’t know anyplace else in Massachusetts. 

“No, not Boston.” Seb shakes his head with a laugh. “Deerfield.” 

“Where’s that?” 

“About two hours outside of Boston.”

“Gonna be honest,” Ricky admits, “you could’ve said anything and I wouldn’t have known the difference.” 

“I’m not surprised. It’s a tiny town. Technically, I don’t even live in Deerfield. My family’s farm is just outside of town.” 

Ricky’s eyebrows shoot up. Nothing about Seb suggests he grew up on a farm. Not that he’s ever met anyone who has to be able to judge. “Your parents are farmers?” 

“Well, not full-time or anything,” the blond replies with a shrug. He takes another sip of his coffee. “My dad actually installs solar panels for a living. We lease most of the land out to other farmers, but we keep our own animals. And my mom runs the farmer’s market. But the farm keeps our income steady and the food’s always fresh. Which is good, because my family is  _ huge _ .” 

A smile traces Ricky’s lips. “Huge?” 

“I’m the third youngest of seven,” Seb explains. 

“ _ Seven _ ?” Ricky’s eyes widen. 

“Seven,” the blond confirms. “Four brothers, two sisters. Plus me and my parents.” 

Ricky can’t even begin to imagine what life with a family of nine is like. Plenty of the kids he grew up around had large families - sometimes as many as four or five siblings - but not that many. The amount of arguing and passive aggression must be insane. “That’s...a lot,” he says carefully. “How do you all fit in one house?” 

Seb laughs. “It can be tough,” he confesses. “It’s a big farmhouse, but even then, we’re all on top of each other sometimes. Everyone always knows everything about everyone else. But we all have our own spaces, too. Mine’s the barn,” he adds with a smirk, as if sharing a well-hidden secret. “Lots of space to practice choreography, and most of the time, the cows don’t mind.” 

“Sometimes I wish I had a sibling,” Ricky notes. “I don’t know about seven of them, though.” 

“You’re an only child?” Seb surmises. 

The other boy nods. “Yeah, we were a small family. Smaller once my parents split.” 

“Oh,” the blond’s eyes widen behind his glasses. He slides his coffee cup to one side and leans a little closer across the table. “That must have been hard.” His voice has dropped to a more discreet volume, almost blending in with the whirring of the cappuccino machines and milk steamers, and his tone is gentle and sympathetic in a way that forces Ricky to pick his eyes up from the table. 

“I mean, it’s whatever,” he deflects. Seb’s blue eyes stay trained on him, soft and concerned. “It’s been a few years,” he adds, as if the passage of time makes a difference. He isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince himself or the other boy anymore.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” the blond assures him. “But we can if you want to.” 

“There’s not much to say,” Ricky insists. “They split right before I started high school. I live with my mom for most of the year, and I see my dad during school breaks and over the summer.” 

“Where’s your mom live?” Seb asks, changing the subject. Ricky breathes a quiet sigh of relief. 

“Chicago,” he replies. “Er, technically Winnetka, but it’s basically Chicago, so…” 

“Gonna be honest,” the other boy parrots, “you could’ve said anything and I wouldn’t have known the difference.” 

Ricky laughs. “Yeah, that’s why I say Chicago. It’s just easier that way.” 

“What made you come all the way out here?” 

“Change of pace,” Ricky shrugs. “My dad lives in Salt Lake City, my mom’s in Chicago, and I’ve been to California a bunch of times. The East Coast was the last place I hadn’t explored yet. Plus, it’s so close to New York.” He says it like it means something. The truth is, proximity to New York was never a major deciding factor for him. But most people tend to frown when he tells them he came to the New York metro area because it was about as far away from his mom as he could possibly get, so it’s a lie he’s settled comfortably into. Beside, everyone else seems obsessed with the city. If Seb disbelieves him, he doesn’t let on. 

The silence that ensues is amicable, but Ricky can already sense that there’s more Seb would like to ask. He decides to head him off. “So who was that guy you were talking to at the gym the other day?” he asks, a playful smirk cracking across his face. 

Seb’s eyes widen momentarily, and a deep red blush starts to creep into his cheeks. “Oh,” he says shyly, “that was Carlos. He’s my boyfriend.” 

Ricky smiles. “You guys are cute together,” he affirms. His curiosity is admittedly piqued. Aside from EJ and Nini’s past relationship, he hadn’t been informed of his colleagues’ love lives. He hadn’t even been aware that Seb was in a relationship at all, though he can’t say he’s surprised. “How’d you meet?” 

Seb’s grin widens. He fiddles with his cup, spinning the straw back and forth between his thumb and index finger. “We were both part of a dance show last year,” he says into the depths of his smoothie. “I was one of the performers, and Carlos was an assistant choreographer even though he’s a  _ way  _ more talented dancer than I am. We started hanging out together after rehearsals, then we started hanging out  _ before  _ rehearsals, and then we started hanging out outside of the show, altogether. Next thing you know, we were dating.” A wistful smile traces the blond’s lips, and his expression turns moony. 

Rick’s smile softens, too. “He sounds pretty great.” 

“He is,” Seb confirms. “He’s bright and full of life and energy and just…” he gestures in the space in front of him, as if trying to grab the right words out of thin air. “He’s great,” he says finally, having decided there are no other words to encapsulate Carlos. “He actually lives in the building. I’ll introduce you next time.” 

“That would be great,” Ricky says, tipping his chair back again. 

“What about you?” Seb questions. “Got anyone special?” 

Ricky brings his chair back down with a  _ thud _ . He ponders for a moment, and it looks like Seb might retract the question, but he finally answers, “No, not really. I’m not exactly the relationship type, you know?” 

The other boy cocks his head to one side. “What do you mean?” 

“I dunno,” Ricky sniffs, drawing his cup closer to him. He takes another sip, drawing out the last dregs of overly-sweet syrup. “I just feel like people shouldn’t get into relationships if they don’t plan for them to last forever.” 

“Not all relationships last forever,” Seb points out. 

“I know. But, if you’re not gonna even try, what’s the point, right? But the thing is, I don’t even know if forever is possible. Like at all, but especially for me. So why get anyone’s hopes up?” 

“Well,” Seb says slowly. “That’s...one way of looking at it.” 

Ricky’s expression turns sheepish, and he braces for the same talk countless people have given him before.  _ You’ll find the right person some day! Everyone says that until they meet  _ the one _. You’ll want to settle down eventually. Everyone does. My niece/nephew/cousin/dog walker is single! I can set you two up!  _ “I know, I know,” he says, answering the thoughts before Seb has a chance to voice them. “I’ll change my mind one day.” 

“Maybe,” Seb shrugs. “Or maybe you won’t.” 

“You don’t think I’m being stupid or selfish or…?” 

“No.” Seb registers the incredulous look on Ricky’s face. “Maybe a little cynical,” he allows. “But not stupid or selfish. If anything, you’re being honest, and that’s a good thing.” 

Ricky pauses and considers this for a moment, spinning the cup slowly between his hands. “Thanks,” he says finally, grateful that for once, somebody isn’t judging him.

* * *

Ricky sits at his desk, tipping back in his chair. His music theory textbook lies open in front of him. He’s read the same paragraph three times by now, and each time, the words fail to register. The words on the page have long since blurred into an indefinite line. His phone buzzes, and he snatches it off the desk eagerly. A text from Nini. He leans forward, bringing the front legs of his chair back down to the ground as he reads the message.

_ We should think about our first event for our floor. Jenn’s gonna want a program proposal soon. I have some ideas already. _

He reads the text again, as if he might unearth a clue as to what Nini is talking about. The semester just started. It’s barely September. How could she - or anyone, for that matter - already be thinking about a program proposal? He doesn’t even know what a program proposal entails, or where to begin planning something for their residents. He hasn’t even received all of his syllabi yet. 

He’s tempted to ask her what her ideas are. Knowing Nini, she probably already has the proposals drawn up. He’s certain they’ll be the same type of dull, cliche events his own RA planned regularly: ice cream socials, movie nights, allegedly-fun programs promoting safe sex and responsible drinking with the same six kids showing up. Their events have to be different. They have to be better. He begins to tap his pencil on his desk, his homework all but forgotten as he tries to come up with a better program. He barely even notices when his phone screen darkens, then turns off. 

* * *

Nini lets out a strangled growl of frustration and releases her phone, sending it clattering back down onto her desk. Ricky read her text. She knows because she can  _ see  _ exactly when he read it. He has his read receipts on.  _ Read 3:42 _ . Fifteen minutes ago. It doesn’t take fifteen minutes to write a simple acknowledgement. She’s pretty certain even Ricky can spell  _ okay _ . Which means he’s ignoring her. She has half a mind to submit a proposal to Jenn right now. It’s already typed up and saved on her computer. All she has to do is slap their names and a date on it. She’s sure Jenn will approve an ice cream social. That’ll teach Ricky to leave her on read. But then again, why should she do all the work? She releases a measured breath, stuffs her phone into her pocket, pushes back from her desk, and marches down the hall to Ricky’s room.

She hesitates when he reaches his door, one hand poised to pound on it until he opens up. The hallway is empty, but she’s certain that frenzied knocking will bring all of their residents out of their rooms to witness her. What will they think of her then? That she’s the uncool RA  _ and  _ the crazy RA? Besides, what if Ricky isn’t in? She reconsiders. Maybe a passive-aggressive  _ I know you read that  _ text will suffice. 

She starts to turn back when the door flies open. She cries out in alarm as Ricky practically tumbles from his room, his backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder and one shoelace untied. He has a skateboard tucked under one arm. He stops short, letting out a gasp of surprise as he nearly runs straight into her. 

“Nini,” he says breathlessly. 

“I -,” she begins, then shakes her head to recover her train of thought. “I was just coming to see you,” she says. 

He gestures to her standing before him. “I can see that.” 

“Right.” She feels her body go slack as she begins to twist a lock of dark hair in her hands. “I wanted to talk to you about the program proposal. I saw you ignored my text, so...” 

Confusion registers on his face. “Oh!” he says, the realization dawning on him. “I wasn’t ignoring you, I swear. I meant to respond, but I was thinking of program ideas…” 

Nini crosses her arms and hitches one brow doubtfully. 

“No, seriously,” he says. “I swear.” 

“And what did you come up with?” she questions loftily.  _ This should be good.  _

His eyes light up. “Well I was thinking, right? Jenn said how our events should be authentic to ourselves and our residents. I’m a skater,” he holds up the skateboard as proof. “So I was thinking maybe we could do some kind of skate event? We could use the courtyard, maybe set up a few low ramps and things. It wouldn’t take much. I have a couple boards we could use, and they literally sell cheap penny boards at the dollar store, so…” 

“A skate event?” Nini frowns.

He deflates slightly. “Yeah,” he says, eyes lowering to the floor. 

“I don’t know,” she sighs doubtfully. A skate event would be a massive undertaking. Even if they could secure the funds to buy a bunch of penny boards, she doubts Ben would approve using the courtyard for something like that. They could crack the pavers or damage the building, not to mention what the wheels would do to the grass. Besides, Ricky and his friends may be skaters, but that doesn’t mean everyone else on the floor will be interested. “Don’t you think that’s kind of niche?” 

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be fun,” he says, his tone growing defensive. 

“Floor events are meant to be inclusive, Ricky,” she chides. “Everyone needs to be able to participate.” 

“Everyone can,” he insists.

“What if they can’t skate?” 

“It’s easy. I can teach them.” 

“Ricky,  _ I  _ can’t even skate,” she says, her voice rising in pitch and volume. 

“I’ll teach you, too,  _ princess _ .” 

“I told you before, do  _ not  _ call me that,” she jabs a finger at him. 

“Admit it, Nini. You just don’t want to do it because you didn’t come up with the idea.” 

She gapes at him, opening and closing her mouth like a fish on dry land. A million thoughts race through her head, pushing their way up her throat and warring to make it out of her mouth first.  _ Who does Ricky think he is? This has  _ nothing  _ to do with the fact that it isn’t her idea, and everything to do with the fact that he’s planning an event that would appeal solely to him and his friends, while using their budget to do it.  _ All she can manage to say is, “That’s not true!” She hates how petulant her tone sounds, even to her own ears. She draws in a deep breath to recompose herself, smoothing out her hair. “I just want to make sure any event we host appeals to  _ all  _ of our residents,” she says primly. “I already have some ideas.” 

“Like what?” he challenges.

“Like an ice cream social,” she says.

He snorts derisively. “Figures.” 

Nini frowns and resists the urge to go back at him defensively. It’s not worth her time, and he clearly isn’t getting the picture. “If you come up with something better, let me know,” she says, forcing pleasantness into her tone, fully aware of how biting and insincere it sounds.

“Oh, I will,” Ricky grumbles. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my class started five minutes ago, so I’m officially late.” He brushes past her and makes his way briskly down the hall.

“You were gonna be late anyway!” she calls after him. 

* * *

Gina picks the duty phone up from the front desk and flips it open. Someone changed the wallpaper to a picture of EJ asleep on the couch in one of the lounges, his res life polo askew. She snickers at the image. 

“Ready for your first official duty night?” Ashlyn asks, sweeping up behind her and taking the second phone off the desk. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Gina answers. This is it. The training wheels have come off. She is officially Gina Porter, Resident Assistant. She shouldn’t be nervous. She’s been thoroughly trained. She has the code of conduct more-or-less committed to memory. But any incident she comes across now will be real, and she won’t have the benefit of ending the scene or getting feedback from her peers afterwards. She releases a shaky breath and straightens up, trying to tamp down the prickly nervousness that rises up from her chest. 

“Let’s do our first rounds at nine,” Ashlyn suggests, pulling her from her thoughts. “Does that work?” 

“Yeah,” Gina forces a smile, grateful that off all her coworkers, the redhead is her first duty partner. “I’ll see you then.” 

Just after 8:30, a loud ringing echoes through the room. Gina jumps, her pen trailing off the page, leaving a thick, stray mark in the center of her notebook. It takes her a moment to process that the sound is emanating from the flip phone on her desk. She snatches it up, her heart already pounding. “Hello?” 

“Hey, it’s Ash,” Ashlyn’s voice comes from the other end of the line. “I just got a call from the front desk. Apparently someone in 417 called for EMS and they’re in the building.” 

Gina jumps up from her seat and moves briskly to the door. “I’ll meet you there.” 

The nerves are gone. The doubt has fled her mind, replaced instead with adrenaline that courses white and hot through her veins. She practically sprints for the stairwell and thunders down the steps into the 400 wing, throwing the heavy fire door open. She takes in the scene in the hallway. A stretcher is already set up, ready and waiting outside the open door. A lanky, redheaded paramedic stands in the doorway, pacing listlessly. He looks up as she approaches. 

“You’re the RA on duty?” he surmises. 

Gina nods. “What’s going on?” She cranes her neck to try to see into the room. The lights are on, and the bathroom door is open. She can hear a female voice murmuring from within, but there’s no one in sight. She can just make out a dark puddle of blood on the floor, covering the threshold between the shower pan and the floor, as well as the floor tiles themselves. Ashlyn joins her at her side a moment later, her name tag pinned over an oversized sweatshirt.

“She slipped and fell in the shower,” the paramedic explains to both of them, his voice low and discreet. “My partner’s working on her now. Apparently she’s bleeding pretty bad. It’s, uh, sort of a sensitive injury…” 

Ashlyn frowns. “What do you mean sensitive?” 

The EMT reddens slightly. “Like... _ sensitive _ ,” he says, hazel eyes widening behind his frameless glasses, as if emphasizing the word makes the statement any less nebulous. “Like, she specifically requested only a female EMT tend to her. I’m gonna have to advise you to stay outside the room. It’s, uh, not pretty.” 

“Oh,” Ashlyn says. “Oh!” She winces at the thought. 

Gina nods grimly. “Well, she did fall in the shower,” she notes. She does the only thing she can think to do in the situation. She pulls out her phone and begins to take notes for the report. “When did she call?” 

“About ten minutes ago,” the paramedic says. “We were dispatched right away.” 

“Kenny?” A voice calls from inside the room. 

The EMT snaps to attention, turning and replying, “What’s up?” 

“I’ve got her covered up. Can you help me get her onto the stretcher?” 

He nods to both RAs, then pulls the stretcher toward him and wheels it gingerly into the room. Gina notes the time, typing furiously into her notes app. A minute later, Kenny reappears, carefully backing the stretcher out into the hall. A girl sits atop it, wearing loose sweats, her eyes red. Dried tears streak her face. Her lips are pale from shock and she shivers slightly, her eyes lowered in embarrassment. Another EMT - a short, slight girl with straight, black hair - brings up the rear. She offers a grim smile to Gina and Ashlyn. 

“We’re gonna transport her. She’s probably gonna need stitches,” she says. “If your bosses need more details for the report, tell them to contact our supervisor.” 

“I didn’t get her name,” Gina says quietly once the paramedics have rolled the stretcher out of sight. 

Ashlyn closes a gentle hand over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We have a resident roster. We can look it up.” 

The younger girl nods, and they start to make their way out of the hall. 

“You alright?” Ashlyn asks. “That was pretty heavy. Especially for a first incident.” 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Gina shrugs. “I mean, we barely saw anything.” 

“I know,” the redhead replies. “But still. Why don’t we go back to my room and write the report?” 

The sophomore follows her coworker down to her room. She’s struck immediately by how full the place feels: the artsy, abstract prints along the wall, the pale teal hand towel that matches the pastel organizers, the neatly-arranged desk with an array of paintbrushes in a mason jar. An essential oil diffuser tinges the room with the pleasant scent of lavender. The space feels lived-in. For a moment, Gina wonders if she could stay here forever. 

Ashlyn gestures to the armchair. “Have a seat in the infamous cry chair,” she invites, easing herself into her desk chair across the room and swiveling to face Gina. “So I know you said you’re fine, but if you want to talk about it…” 

Gina smiles softly, tugging at a loose thread in the throw pillow beside her. “I’m okay, Ash. Really,” she says. 

“You handled yourself pretty well back there,” the redhead praises.

“Yeah, well it’s not my first brush with disaster,” she replies, catching the questioning look on her colleague’s face. “My mom works for FEMA,” she elaborates. “She’s a frontline response coordinator, so whenever disaster strikes, she’s usually one of the first people on the ground. I’ve seen my fair share of upsetting things.” 

Visions of homes torn apart by tornadoes and cars buried beneath landslides flash in her mind. She was never close enough to see the full scale of the destruction - her mom made sure to keep her as far away as possible from it - but it was unavoidable. 

“What was that like?” Ashlyn asks. Her voice is gentle and soothing, but Gina can see the curiosity underlying her concerned expression. It’s the same morbid fascination everyone gets when she tells them about her childhood.

“It could be intense,” she says. “My mom never let me get close to the disaster zones or anything like that, even though I asked. I think she wanted to shield me from it.” 

“She probably didn’t want you to get traumatized,” Ashlyn suggests.

Gina smiles ruefully. “Maybe, but trauma was sort of unavoidable. I may not have been in the middle of the crisis, but I was always living right on the edge of it. I didn’t see any bodies, but I knew they were there. At least my mom had the answers. She knew how bad the injuries were, how many people were still missing, and how many people had died. All I had was social media hashtags. I would scroll for hours trying to memorize every missing person, just in case they showed up at my door.” 

By comparison, the incident tonight was nothing. The girl she watched get wheeled out of her room was going to be fine. She may not have been able to see what happened, but she’s positive that the injury - ugly and painful as it must have been - wasn’t life-threatening. That already made it miles better than most of the things her mom had dealt with. 

“You must’ve moved around a lot,” Ashlyn notes, changing the topic. 

“Oh, yeah,” Gina replies easily. “My mom was assigned to the south and southwest offices, so we would get moved anywhere from Florida to Arizona. Sometimes even California if they needed extra hands.” 

“What was that like for you?” Ashlyn’s voice is devoid of the usual envy that accompanies the question. Almost everyone has spun her nomadic childhood as a positive, romantic thing, noting all the different experiences she must have had and the fun in starting over. She would inevitably smile and nod along, without bothering to point out that for most of her life, she was living in ravaged and devastated parts of the country.

“I experienced a lot,” she says vaguely. 

“But what was it like for  _ you _ ?” Ashlyn asks, and Gina grasps the question fully. 

“Sometimes,” she says with a weary sigh, “I wish I had a more normal childhood.” 

“I get that,” Ashlyn says. “But hey, for what it’s worth, I think it’s made you who you are. And who you are is cool, calm, and collected in a crisis. I’m glad you were my duty partner for this one.” 

Gina feels a growing warmth in her chest, and the smile that breaks across her face is genuine and proud. “Thanks,” she says. Her mother always told her she came from strong stock, and growing up, she’d always held the opinion that there was no stock stronger than her mother’s. But maybe just a little bit of it rubbed off on her, too. “Here,” she motions for Ashlyn to pass her laptop over. “I have the notes. I can write the report if you want.” 

* * *

FROM: Gina Porter <porterg9@monroestate.edu>   
TO: Benjamin Mazzara <mazzarab@monroestate.edu>, Jennifer Jenn <jennj@monroestate.edu>   
CC: Ashlyn Caswell <caswella1@monroestate.edu>   
DATE: September 4, 9:13 PM   
SUBJECT: Incident Report: Medical Transport

Good evening Ben and Jenn,

Attached, please find an incident report for a medical transport that took place tonight. Please be advised that, due to the sensitive nature of the injury, EMS advised us not to approach the scene. If you require any further details about the incident, please reach out to the EMS supervisor. Ashlyn is CC’d on this message. Please let us know if you require anything further.

Thank you,

Gina

* * *

FROM: Benjamin Mazzara <mazzarab@monroestate.edu>   
TO: Gina Porter <porterg9@monroestate.edu>, Ashlyn Caswell <caswella1@monroestate.edu>   
DATE: September 5, 9:00 AM   
SUBJECT: RE: Incident Report: Medical Transport

Gina and Ashlyn

Excellent work on this report. I will reach out to the EMS supervisor for further. Thank you for your attention and discretion in this matter.

Regards,

Ben

\--

Benjamin M. Mazzara, M.Ed   
Residence Hall Director - East Hall   
Monroe State University   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time! Yes, this incident is indeed one that I also dealt with. A resident reportedly slipped and fell in her shower and managed to call EMS. By the time my duty partner and I made it up there, the EMTs were already on-scene. The male EMT was directed to stay outside, and he told us to do the same while his female partner worked on the resident. He gave us enough info to piece together what happened - basically, the lip of the shower pan was this raised metal piece to keep the water from spilling out onto the floor. I guess she slipped and fell right onto it. I don't know where the injury was, exactly, but I was told it was "sensitive." We ended up calling the building director on duty for the night. She was allowed in. She was this rather tall, no-nonsense woman with a dark sense of humor. (Side note: she was, by far, one of my favorite people in res life. She once told me that when she had to do conduct meetings, she would draw her eyebrows on at a more aggressive angle to make her seem more intimidating 😂) Point is, nothing fazed her. But when she came out of that scene, let me tell you - she was ready to throw up. So yeah, definitely a messy incident, and one that felt right for Gina to handle in a way that would also tease out her back story more. 
> 
> So what did you think?


	7. Room Checks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late update! I got completely snowed in the last two days, so I decided to really hunker down and write. The result is a chapter that is MUCH longer than I planned, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless. It was an excellent use of a snow day, if you ask me. I'd love to hear your thoughts! Fair warning: I have never ridden a skateboard, and I feel like that much will be very obvious early on in this chapter haha.

“Ricky, what are you doing?” Nini stands at the courtyard entrance, hands on her hips, one eyebrow arched in a combination of suspicion and amusement. 

Ricky smiles brightly - almost smugly - as he rolls toward her, skateboard wheels clattering over the concrete pavers. He shifts his weight to the back of the board, bringing the front wheels up and planting his heel to stop himself just short of crashing into her. “Glad you could make it,” he says winningly. “Welcome to our skate event.” 

She can’t say she’s surprised Ricky went ahead with the event. He rolled over too easily when she shot him down the first time, and he hadn’t brought up the idea again after their initial discussion in the hallway. She had a feeling he was up to something. She pinches the bridge of her nose and releases a slow breath through her nostrils. “ _ Our _ skate event? I thought we went over this…” 

“Jenn said it was okay to use the courtyard. She liked the idea, actually,” he adds with a shit-eating grin. “You should be glad I even included your name on it.” 

This part is, admittedly, a surprise. She didn’t think Ricky even knew where to find the program proposal forms, much less how to fill one out and submit it.

“She didn’t approve of us buying penny boards, though,” he continues. “So I invited some friends and asked to borrow their boards.” He jerks his head in the direction of two other students lounging in the grass. She spots a boy with fiery red hair and another, tan-skinned boy with dark hair.

“And how many people turned out so far?” she asks. 

“Including me, Big Red, Rico, and you? Four.” 

“So it’s just you guys.” 

“And you,” he says, kicking off on his skateboard and rolling steadily toward his friends. “C’mon! Grab a board.” 

“Ricky,” Nini groans, refusing to budge. “I told you. I don’t skateboard. I don’t know how.” 

“So I’ll teach you,” he calls over his shoulder without stopping. 

She stands in the courtyard entrance, watching her co’s retreating back and willing herself to turn around. She should head back to her room, forget this foolishness, and start working on her reading assignments for next week. 

“You coming or what?” 

She looks up to see that Ricky has stopped halfway down the path. He looks boyish and almost endearing standing there, smiling impishly, a single curl peeking out from the brim of his helmet and dangling in his face. She starts to turn around, her feet all-too-willing to carry her back into the building, but something stops her. Maybe it’s the pathetic turnout, or the fact that he seems genuinely eager to get her onto a skateboard. With a dramatic sigh and a pointed eye roll, she starts down the path toward her co. 

“Nini, this is Big Red and Rico,” Ricky announces, gesturing to the redhead and the dark-haired boy in turn. “Guys, this is Nini. My co.” 

She doesn’t even have time to process that the redhead is actually called Big Red. A strange look passes over the boy’s face that makes her wonder just what Ricky’s said about her to his friends. He clearly knows who she is, and he’s clearly on-edge. He sits bolt upright, managing a tight smile, absently spinning the wheels of an overturned skateboard in his lap. 

“Let me see that board,” Ricky requests, gesturing to a purple and green skateboard sitting beside Rico. The boy passes it over, and Ricky makes a big show of turning it every which way, flicking the wheels and running his index finger along the sides of the deck. “Alright,” he says, evidently satisfied. “I think even an amateur like you could handle this one.” He sets it on the ground and gestures to it. “Hop on.” 

Nini hesitates. She’d been on a skateboard once, back in her freshman year of high school when she’d been trying to impress a skater boy in her biology class. She’d gone and bought a cheap board at Target over Kourtney’s objections, and then attempted to teach herself how to ride it in her driveway. The attempt had ended with her helmet-clad head stuck in the grille of Mama D’s Volvo, the board overturned several yards away. That was that. She’d stuffed the skateboard deep into the recesses of her closet and vowed never to attempt it again. She looks up and sees Ricky’s eager, mischievous expression. 

“What’re you waiting for?” he urges. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.” 

“I’m not afraid,” she sniffs airily. “I just need a helmet, that’s all.” 

“You don’t need a helmet.” Ricky rolls his eyes. 

“Um, I do, actually,” she says. “What happens if I fall off?”

“You’re literally surrounded by grass,” he says. “And I guarantee you’ll be moving at a snail’s pace anyway. The worst that’ll happen is you’ll stain your pants.” 

“I would just feel a lot better if I had a helmet.” 

“Fine,” he says, unfastening his chin strap and prying his helmet off his head. His hair sticks out in every direction. He plants the helmet on her head. “There. Your helmet,  _ your highness _ .”

“ _ Ew _ !” she shrieks, clawing the helmet off her head immediately and letting it tumble to the ground. It smells of sweat and musk and  _ Ricky _ . 

“Problem?” he asks smugly. 

“I meant my  _ own  _ helmet,” she grumbles. 

He shrugs, picking the headgear up off the ground. “It’s all I got,” he says. “So you can either put it on and deal, or you can go without. Unless it’s all just an excuse because you don’t want to admit you’re afraid.” 

Nini frowns. “I’m not afraid,” she insists. 

“Prove it,” Ricky challenges innocently, gesturing to the skateboard. 

She releases a frustrated breath. “You’re on, Bowen,” she says, planting one foot on the skate deck and shooting him a haughty glare. 

“Impressive,” he says sarcastically. “Now try your other foot.” 

She looks down at her Converse-clad foot pressed firmly against the skate deck, then slowly lifts her other leg. The board tilts immediately, and she lets out a quiet squeak as she plants her foot back on solid ground. 

“Relax,” Ricky says, his tone slightly less mocking now. “Shift your foot so that it’s closer to the middle of the board and try again. It’s gonna dip a little, but it won’t flip over as long as your weight is distributed evenly.” 

“I’m  _ trying _ ,” she says, shifting her foot over as Ricky instructed. 

“Loosen up,” he advises. He moves toward her, as if he’s about to adjust her posture himself, but stops halfway and lets his hands drop to his sides. 

“I kind of can’t loosen up when this whole board feels like it’s gonna flip under me.” 

“It won’t flip,” he says. “And if it does, I’ll catch you. Do you trust me?” 

“Not really!” Her voice jumps two octaves. It sounds shrill even to her own ears. 

Ricky grins at her. “Don’t worry. Even if I can’t catch you, the ground’s plenty soft.” 

She cuts him a glare, then glances down at the skate deck and repositions her foot. 

“Good,” Ricky says. “Now just lift your other foot up and -” 

She pre-empts his instructions, lifting her other foot up onto the board. It dips beneath her momentarily, and she feels her heart drop into her stomach. She lets out a small squeak, but the board soon settles beneath her and she releases a slow breath. 

“You got it,” her co says. It’s the closest thing to praise she’s ever heard from him. “Okay, now use your right foot to push off the ground…” 

“How do I stop?” she asks. 

Ricky looks confused. “Stop? You haven’t even started moving yet.” 

She fixes him with another look. “Just...please,” she breathes. She hadn’t been able to stop last time, so she’d simply crashed. She won’t let herself be caught in that position again. 

“Okay, fine,” Ricky says, humoring her. “Easiest way to stop is just to plant your foot.” 

“That’s gonna break my ankle!” she protests. 

He snorts. “Something tells me you won’t be going fast enough for that to be a concern.” 

She furrows her brow and straightens up defensively. She wants to ask him what he means by that. She wants to insist she’s not a coward. But then again, he also has a point. She has no intention of going any faster than walking pace. Maybe crawling. 

“So, like I was saying, you’re gonna use your right foot to push off. When you build up some speed, pick your foot up and stand on the board.” 

“And then what?” Nini questions. 

He shrugs. “You just ride it.” 

“Just ride it. Great,” Nini mutters under her breath. This is ridiculous. This isn’t even an actual event, and somehow Ricky’s managed to talk her into trying to skateboard again.  _ I wonder if student health insurance covers stupid accidents.  _ She reconsiders for a moment. It would be so easy to just step off the board, tell Ricky to forget it, and leave before she humiliates herself. But he threw down a challenge, and she’ll be damned if she gives him the satisfaction of quitting before she even tried. 

_ Just ride it. Just ride it. Just ride it.  _ She pushes off with her right foot as instructed. The skateboard begins to move, bumping and jolting over the pavers.  _ This isn’t so bad _ . Of course, she’s moving at a slow walking pace at best. She kicks off again, gaining speed. The grass begins to blur into a single sea of green as she kicks off once more. A gust of wind picks up, fanning her dark hair and blowing strands into her face. She continues to gain momentum, and she is unable to fight the grin that splits her face.  _ This is actually kinda fun. _ Her eyes widen when she realizes that the courtyard wall is looming in front of her, coming up fast. 

Ricky cups his hands to his mouth and shouts, “Plant your foot!” 

_ Plant your foot. Right _ . Nini gingerly lowers her right foot to the ground, her toes grazing the concrete. The board keeps moving forward, carried by its own momentum. She feels her right leg start to buckle and instinctively lifts it up, throwing off her entire balance. The board tips sideways, her stomach drops, and suddenly she’s staring up at the sky, the board clattering as it rolls away from her unscathed. 

She lets out a grunt as she pushes herself up. Ricky jogs over, his Vans slapping against the pavement. He draws up beside her, casting a shadow over her and the ground as he leans in, a small smirk tugging at his lips. 

“You good?” He holds out a hand. 

"Fine,” Nini bites out, reluctantly taking his outstretched hand and slowly rising to a standing position. Her palms are dotted with bits of dirt and gravel, and she dusts them off with as much dignity as she can muster. She can already feel the tips of her ears starting to burn red with embarrassment. 

“When I said plant your foot, I meant your whole foot,” Ricky says mildly. “Not just your toes.” 

“I realized that,” she grouses. 

Ricky strides the few feet to where the skateboard came to rest. He picks it up and spins it a few times, inspecting each surface. Evidently satisfied, he returns to her side and holds it out to her like a present. “Try again?” 

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just watch.” What she  _ should  _ do is go back to her room, forget this ill-advised stunt, and get started on her reading assignments. But if she does that, Ricky will think it’s because she’s humiliated. He would never let her live it down. 

“Suit yourself,” Ricky shrugs. 

She finds a seat in the grass a few feet away and tries to ignore the gnats that buzz around her head. A slight breeze kicks up, carrying with it the first hints that summer is ending and fall is right around the corner. The early-September sun beats down on her, and she uses one hand to shield her eyes from the light. Ricky and his friends skate back and forth across the courtyard, occasionally riding the edges of the low wooden benches or pulling jumps off the plywood ramps they set up in the grass. She refrains from chasing after them, reminding them to be mindful not to damage university property. 

There is an effortlessness to the way Ricky moves. He is surefooted, and his body sways confidently as he leans into each turn. When he leaps into the air, he does it with the assurance that he’ll land on his feet, and that his board will be right where he expects it. She isn’t sure where he learned to skate like that, but part of her wishes she had the same easy gracefulness. 

* * *

Ricky grinds along one of the courtyard benches, letting his board graze the edge of the seat before landing on all four wheels. Big Red follows suit, and Rico a moment after. The boy glances back at his co, who sits in the grass, legs straight out in front of her, watching with one hand shielding her eyes from the bright sun. After her disastrous first attempt at skateboarding, he can’t blame her for deciding to sit the rest of the event out, though some part of him is sure that with a bit of practice and coaching, Nini would eventually get the hang of it. She seems like the type of girl who would eventually get the hang of anything. 

He completes one last circuit of the courtyard, ramping over each sheet of plywood he and Big Red laid down, then draws to a stop where they started and glances at his phone. Nini and his friends were the only people who showed, but Jenn only granted him an hour in the courtyard and their time is up. He turns to the guys. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says brightly. “Looks like my first event was a success.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want some help cleaning up?” Big Red asks. 

Ricky frowns. “Don’t you have class in, like, fifteen minutes?”

“So?” Red asks, his face blank. 

Ricky shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, I can handle it. See you guys at the next one?” 

“Count on it,” Rico promises, gathering his boards and starting for the exit.

Nini rises from the ground and brushes stray strands of grass from the seat of her jeans as she approaches her co. “That was...fun,” she concedes.

“Hate to say I told you so,” he says, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“We still need to have a real event, though,” she adds off-handedly. 

Ricky frowns.  _ Real event? What’s that supposed to mean?  _ He’d been pretty sure this was a real event. They were having fun. Sure, nobody else showed up - he hadn’t thought to make flyers until after Red and Rico arrived and wondered where everyone else was - but they were still there. It still happened. “What was wrong with this event?” he questions. 

Nini gestures around the vacant courtyard as if it should be obvious. “You kinda need residents to turn out for it to count as an actual event,” she tells him. “Otherwise, it’s just you and your friends hanging out.”

_ And you _ , he wants to add.  _ You were hanging out, too _ . And he’d sort of been under the impression they were having a moment up until now. “Sure,” he says instead, his voice thin. “I guess that makes sense.” 

“I still have the proposal for the ice cream social drawn up,” she suggests brightly. 

“Whatever you want,” he sighs. 

“Great! What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” 

He’s caught off-guard by the question and blinks a few times. “Huh?” 

She hitches a brow, staring at him like she thinks he might’ve fallen off his board one too many times. “Your favorite ice cream? For the program?” 

“Oh!” He’d been under the impression Nini would get the standard flavors - vanilla, chocolate, maybe strawberry if she was feeling adventurous. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she’d bother to ask or stock his preference. “Mint chocolate chip.” 

She makes a face.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” she shakes her head, the grimace turning into an approximation of a taunting smile. “I just can’t imagine why anyone would want toothpaste-flavored ice cream. That’s all.” 

* * *

TO: Richard Bowen <bowenr5@monroestate.edu>, Ashlyn Caswell <caswella1@monroestate.edu>, Eric Caswell <ecaswell@monroestate.edu>, Sebastian Matthew-Smith <matthew-smiths1@monroestate.edu>, Gina Porter <porterg9@monroestate.edu>, Nina Salazar-Roberts <salazar-robertsn1@monroestate.edu>   
FROM: Benjamin Mazzara <mazzarab@monroestate.edu>   
CC: Jennifer Jenn <jennj@monroestate.edu>   
DATE: September 8, 9:00 AM   
SUBJECT: Room Inspections

Staff,

Please be advised that the window for room inspections will be from today until next Wednesday. Room checks must be completed in pairs during normal waking hours (9 AM - 8 PM). Please provide documentation for all rooms that fail inspections. Violations that do not pose an imminent risk to the safety of the building will have a 1 week remediation period before re-inspection. If you have any questions or require assistance, please do not hesitate to contact myself or Jenn. 

Regards,

Ben

\--   
Benjamin M. Mazzara, M.Ed   
Residence Hall Director - East Hall   
Monroe State University

* * *

TO: Richard Bowen <bowenr5@monroestate.edu>, Ashlyn Caswell <caswella1@monroestate.edu>, Eric Caswell <ecaswell@monroestate.edu>, Sebastian Matthew-Smith <matthew-smiths1@monroestate.edu>, Gina Porter <porterg9@monroestate.edu>, Nina Salazar-Roberts <salazar-robertsn1@monroestate.edu>   
FROM: Jennifer Jenn <jennj@monroestate.edu>   
CC: Benjamin Mazzara <mazzarab@monroestate.edu>   
DATE: September 8, 9:27 AM   
SUBJECT: RE: Room Inspections

Good morning fabulous East Hall RAs! 

I’ll be in the office all day. Give me a call if you need any backup! You got this!!!

Warm regards,

Jenn

\--   
Jennifer J. Jenn, M.A., M.Ed.   
East Hall Residence Director   
Monroe State University

“Everyone deserves the chance to fly!” -Wicked   
“We’re all in this together.” -High School Musical   
“Trust the process.” -Me

* * *

Ricky wakes up to two emails. He squints at the bright backlight of his phone screen and glances at the time. 10:45. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to grab something to eat from the dining hall on his way to class. He sits up slowly and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The room starts to come into focus. The midmorning sun streams through the slats in the blinds, revealing the pile of items - his bulkiest sweaters, the ironing board Todd insisted he would need one day, reference books he hasn’t touched since his sophomore year of high school - that he hasn’t yet found a home for. He gets out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cool tile. He kicked the blankets off sometime during the night, and they lie at his feet in a heap. He gathers them up and tosses them back onto the bed unceremoniously before making his way, bleary-eyed, to the sink. He brushes his teeth, runs a comb through his hair, and shrugs on a hoodie before heading out the door. 

Nini is at the desk, standing over Seb’s shoulder and pointing to something on the computer screen. She flags him over when she spots him coming down the hall. “Just the person I wanted to see,” she says.

Ricky glances over his shoulder exaggeratedly, then comes to a stop at the front desk, leaning over it slightly. “That’s funny,” he says. “I could’ve sworn you just said you wanted to see me.” His grin is playful, and for a moment, it looks like Nini is ready to crack one of her own. 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she admonishes, rolling her eyes. “I was actually gonna ask if you’re free to do room checks today. I like to get them over with as soon as possible.” 

Ricky shrugs. His only class is his hour-long voice lesson at 11:30, and while his plans for the day didn’t exactly include room inspections, it shouldn’t take long. His RA only ever took a cursory glance around his room to ensure there were no visible hazards before passing him and moving on. “I guess,” he agrees. “My class ends at 12:30 today.”

“Great,” Nini says. “I’ll meet you here at 1:00, then?” 

He nods. “Do you want to send the email to our residents, or should I?” 

Nini looks at him blankly, and for a moment, he wonders if he might actually know something about this job that she doesn’t. His RA always sent out an email prior to starting room checks. It was a heads up to make sure everyone was dressed and decent, and it also served as a warning to make sure his alcohol was hidden from view. 

“The email?” Ricky repeats, as if saying the words more pointedly will somehow jog his co’s memory. Her expression contorts in confusion. “The one telling everybody that we’ll be doing inspections today at 1?” 

“Why would we tell them that?” she frowns. 

“So that we don’t walk in on someone naked?” Is Nini messing with him? Pretending she doesn’t know what he’s talking about? 

“Ricky,” she begins. She speaks slowly, her voice laced with passive-aggressive patience, as if she’s explaining a simple concept to someone who should know better by now. “If we warn the residents when we’re coming, they’re just going to hide everything they’re not supposed to have.”

“Good,” he replies. “It’ll make things go faster.” 

Nini’s hands fall to her hips, and she fixes him with the look that he’s come to understand as  _ Are you serious right now?  _

“Oh, c’mon,” he protests. “It’s not that deep. Who cares if a freshman has a can of Four Loko or someone has a candle?” 

His co pinches the bridge of her nose and releases a measured breath. “It  _ is  _ that deep, Ricky. Because if they have a candle and they hide it, we’ll never know it’s there. And if we never know it’s there, it could burn the whole building down.” 

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” 

“Not really,” she says, her voice going up slightly in pitch and volume. Seb stares intently at his computer screen, leaning forward in his seat like he’s hoping the monitor will absorb him entirely. 

“Fine. Whatever,” Ricky says. “I gotta go get something to eat before class.” His stomach rumbles to punctuate the statement. “I’ll see you here at 12:50.” He starts for the door.

Nini furrows her brow. “I thought we said 1?”

The boy spins around, an impish smirk on his face. “Ten minutes early is right on time, right?”

* * *

TO: 300 Wing Residents, 400 Wing Residents   
FROM: Richard Bowen <bowenr5@monroestate.edu>   
CC: Nina Salazar-Roberts <salazar-robertsn1@monroestate.edu>   
SUBJECT: Hide your wife, hide your kids

Hey 300 and 400 wing!

Hide your wife, hide your kids, it’s room inspection day! RA Nini and I will be coming by around 1 to check your rooms.

-RA Ricky

* * *

_ That little…  _ Nini stares at the email on her phone and tries not to let her blood boil. 

True to his word, Ricky Bowen is at the desk at 12:50 when Nini arrives. There’s a hint of smugness to his grin. 

“You sent the email anyway,” she says flatly. It’s not a question. She can’t even muster an accusatory tone to level at the boy. It’s her fault, really, that she didn’t anticipate this. Especially after he went ahead with the skate event. 

“Obviously,” he shrugs. “Just trust me on this one, okay? These room checks are gonna be a breeze.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmurs. “You better hope Ben doesn’t catch wind of this, or we’re both dead.” 

She signs out a master key from the front desk, grabs her clipboard, and makes her way up to Ricky’s hall with her co by her side. “Before we enter, we have to knock,” she tells him, pausing in front of the first door on his side of the hall. “And if they don’t answer, we knock again. If they still don’t answer, we knock a third time and warn them that we’re coming in.” 

“I know how this works, Nini,” he says matter-of-factly. “I heard my RA do it like a million times.” 

She releases a weary sigh and fights back the urge to tell him to do his own room checks if he doesn’t want to accept her help. “Fine. Since you know so much, you can do the honors,” she gestures to the door. 

“Gladly,” he replies with flourish, rapping on the door. “Res life,” he says in an overly cheerful voice. They wait a few moments, but hear nothing inside. He tries again. When there is still no stir, he knocks for a third time and announces, “we’re coming in!” Nini hands him the key wordlessly, and he unlocks the door. “Anyone home?” he calls, easing the door open. 

The blinds are drawn and the room is dark. Nini fumbles along the wall for a light switch and snaps the entryway light on. It’s a cute room, and it’s clear the residents planned everything out together. The two closets are neatly organized and color coordinated, with an array of hat boxes and multi-colored storage bins on the shelves. A pale pink coffee mug stands on the sink counter, the last dregs of coffee still ringing the edges. She feels goosebumps raise along her arms. Entering residents’ rooms when they aren’t around is always the most uncomfortable part of room inspections. It feels invasive, and even though it’s her job, she can’t escape the feeling that she’s not supposed to be there. 

Ricky leans into the living space and sweeps his eyes over the room. “Looks good,” he announces, starting for the door before she’s even had a chance to orient herself. 

“That’s it?” she sputters. 

“Yeah, what else is there to it?” 

_ Unbelievable _ . “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe we should actually take a look around?  _ Inspect _ the room?” 

“Be my guest,” the boy shrugs. “I’m telling you, it’s fine.”

Nini sets her jaw and strides into the center of the room, slowly letting her gaze fall on each corner. Everything is tidy: neat piles of textbooks on the desks, a fluffy white blanket draped artfully over the mattress, a pot of succulents on the windowsill. She feels herself deflate. “Yeah,” she finally admits. “Yeah, it’s fine.” It surprises her when Ricky doesn’t immediately fire back with an I-told-you-so.

It takes them an hour to finish checking both of their wings. Aside from a few candles and one set of residents who had proudly displayed their collection of hard liquor along the windowsill, everyone passes. Nini stares at the stack of passing inspection papers in her hand. It somehow feels wrong. There should be more failing rooms, especially since it’s the first room inspection of the semester. Ricky’s email obviously prompted some students to hide things. It bothers her that they might have overlooked something dangerous. It feels like she hasn’t done her job properly. And yet, she’s never finished doing room checks this quickly. They used to be an all-afternoon affair. There’s something relieving about having the rest of her day free.

“Well, that was easy,” Ricky remarks. 

_ That’s because you tipped them off _ , she thinks, but she bites her tongue and smiles tightly instead. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll return the key and drop the paperwork off at Ben and Jenn’s office.”

She parts ways with Ricky and tries to ignore the guilty feeling when she puts the stack of passing paperwork in Ben’s mailbox. 

* * *

Gina wrinkles her nose the minute she and EJ step into the empty room. “It’s only been a week. How is this room already so musty smelling?” she complains.

EJ chuckles and turns on the light. “It’s the men’s floor,” he says simply. “Pretty sure the smell never goes away.” 

Gina saunters past him, trying to ignore the way the soles of her shoes stick with each step. Dust, crumbs, and hair that she hopes came from someone’s head have already started gathering in the corners. The laundry piled in the corner smells like a locker room. One of the garbage cans is overfilled, and a takeout container streaked in mysterious brown grease lies open on the desk.

“You definitely don’t wanna go in there,” EJ says, stepping out of the bathroom. “But I think this room is fine. Gross, but fine.” 

Gina’s eyes land on a corner of the room, where a powerstrip is plugged into another. “Guess again,” she says, pointing it out to her co. “Daisy-chained powerstrips.” 

EJ lets out a low whistle. “Good eye,” he claps her on the back. “I never would’ve noticed that.” He crosses the room and gingerly unplugs one set of plugs from the other. “I’ll leave them a note,” he says, scribbling something down on the form. “They probably don’t even know it’s a fire hazard.” 

* * *

Ashlyn writes out another passing form, leaves a copy for her residents, then turns to Seb. “Halfway done with my hall,” she says gleefully.

“We’re making good time,” her co notes as they step out into the hallway. “I kinda forgot how much fun room inspections can be.” 

“Right?” the redhead agrees, knocking at the next door. “It seems like such a drag, but you make it fun.” 

“Aw, shucks,” the blond says, pausing outside the next room. 

Ashlyn’s first knock brings no response, so she knocks again. “I heard Carlos came to meet your family,” she begins, amber eyes twinkling. 

Seb looks away, a shy smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, he stayed a week before the semester started.” 

“How was that? Did they love him?” she inquires, knocking for a third time. “Res life, coming in!” She twists the key in the lock and pushes the door open. 

“They did,” Seb grins. “It was weird at first. I don’t think he’s used to being so far out in the middle of nowhere. Or around so many people. I think he was shocked I still share a room with my brother.” 

“All three of you didn’t stay in the same room, did you?” 

The blond makes a face. “God, no! Could you imagine? I kicked Luke out. He slept on the basement couch.”

“Poor baby,” Ash says, flicking on the lights and letting her eyes roam over the room. An array of bright, psychedelic posters hang on one wall, along with a set of prayer flags. “It must’ve been nice having Carlos around,” she murmurs. 

“It was,” Seb agrees, glancing into the bathroom. “What about you? Who were you spending your summer with?”

The redhead laughs. “Me, myself, and I,” she says. “I was working most of the time. Although I did meet a girl when we were staying at EJ’s parents’ shore house...” 

“ _ Ooh _ !” Seb croons playfully, wiggling his eyebrows. He starts to hum the opening bars to  _ Summer Lovin _ ’. 

“Hardly,” she snorts. “I was with my parents, EJ, and his parents the whole time. Kinda puts a damper on things. Anyway,” she shakes her head. “I think this room is fine.”

They move on down the hall. “What else did you do this summer?” Ashlyn asks as they step into the next room. 

“We went up to Maine for a week,” Seb says. “My uncle owns a cabin out there that he lets us use. We hiked up to the top of Acadia National Park for the sunrise. It was really nice.” 

“Sounds it,” Ashlyn replies distractedly, staring intently at a square-shaped box in the corner of the room. It’s tall and wide, and suspiciously covered by a blanket. She inches closer, peeking around the fabric. Her heart skips a beat when she sees that it’s a cage of some kind. “Seb…” she says softly, reaching for the blanket and pulling it away. The creature inside squeals, and she screams, falling backwards. 

Seb rushes from the bathroom. “What happened?” he asks, eyes wide in alarm. 

The redhead points wordlessly to the cage, where a large rat scurries around in a panic. Seb steps closer and peers inside, then lets out a laugh as he squats down beside it. “Ash, it’s just a rat,” he says. 

“A  _ rat _ ?” she shrieks. 

“Yeah, like a pet rat,” Seb elaborates. 

She rises to her feet, dusting herself off sheepishly. “That’s disgusting,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “And it’s  _ huge _ .” 

“It’s nothing compared to some of the rats we get in the barn,” her co answers easily, cooing at the rodent. “Hi, little fella!”

“Pretty sure pet rats are on the not-allowed list,” Ashlyn says, watching the creature carefully. She has to admit, the more it scurries around its cage, the cuter it looks. 

“Oh, for sure,” Seb replies. “It’s a shame, though. It’s pretty cute. For a rat.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear you say that,” Ash says, jotting something down on the form and leaving a copy for the resident. They’ll have one week to remove the animal, and she hopes for everyone’s sake that it doesn’t manage to escape before then.

* * *

When Nini enters the laundry room, Gina is standing by a dryer, removing articles of clothing and folding them before placing them into a collapsible laundry basket. She looks up and smiles when her coworker walks in. “Hey,” she greets, dropping a sock ball into the basket.

“Hi,” Nini says, opening an empty washer and squatting down in front of it. She begins to toss her dark-colored clothes inside. “Did you do your room checks yet?” 

“Just finished,” Gina says. “How about you?”

“Ricky and I finished a while ago,” she answers vaguely. 

“Oh?” Gina cocks her head. “I thought nothing ever went smoothly between you two.” 

“Ha-ha,” Nini deadpans. "We’re actually capable of getting along sometimes,” she says. She decides to leave out the argument about the email. Better not to give her coworkers any more ammo. 

Both girls jump as the laundry room door swings open with a thud. Ricky stands in the entryway, precariously balancing an overstuffed hamper. “Oh, hey,” he says casually to Gina as he shuffles over to the empty washing machine beside Nini. He stops short when he spots her squatting on the ground. “Oh,” he repeats. “Hey.” She nods toward him in acknowledgement and he begins tossing his clothes inside the machine without any regard for color or washing instructions. Nini feels the tips of her ears start to burn red as she does her best to shield her underwear from view, slipping them into the front-load washer as quickly as she can. 

“Whoa,” EJ says, stepping into the laundry room a minute later. “It’s like a staff meeting in here.” 

“You’re just in time,” Gina replies. “Nini was saying how she and Ricky finished their room checks.” 

“Find anything exciting?” EJ asks, filling up a washer further down the row. 

“Nah,” Ricky answers. “Some candles, some alcohol. How about you guys?” 

“Same,” the older boy says. “Although Gina has an eagle eye for this stuff. She caught things I didn’t even see.” 

“What can I say?” the girl chimes in, folding a pair of leggings. “I have an eye for detail.” 

“That’s for sure,” the senior agrees, starting the washer.

Nini tries to tamp down the flash of jealousy that burns in her chest at the way the two co’s get along. She cuts a sideways glance at Ricky, haphazardly mixing white t-shirts with his red staff polo. If he notices her eyeing him, he doesn’t let on, and she’s struck with the idea that he might not be so bad. He’s careless and sloppy, but at the end of the day, maybe he does mean well, like EJ said. After all, once she gets past the guilt, her life is about to be infinitely easier. And the skate event - as poorly attended as it was - was sort of fun. 

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a washer vibrating violently, like it’s ready to shake itself loose. She turns to see EJ’s machine filling with suds. The detergent leaks out through the door, pooling on the ground. “EJ!” she cries. 

He starts, takes in the sight of the mess of soap and water forming on the floor, and quickly shuts the machine off. “I don’t get it,” he shakes his head. “How’d that happen?”

“Looks like you overfilled it with detergent,” Gina says, an amused grin cracking across her face. “Is this your first time doing laundry?” 

“Okay, look,” the senior sighs, reaching for the back of his neck. “I didn’t  _ technically  _ have to do laundry before I got to college, and since I was home for the summer, I may have gotten a little out of practice… You guys know what I’m talking about, right?” His blue-green eyes dart around the room. All three of his coworkers shake their heads.

“Yeah, no. Can’t relate,” Gina shakes her head, patting him on the shoulder and returning to her own clothes. 

“Me neither,” Nini says with a sympathetic smile. “I’ve been doing my own laundry since I was like twelve.”

“Ricky?” EJ asks hopefully. 

“Sorry, dude,” the younger boy replies. 

* * *

Ricky’s phone chimes just after 7:00. He reads the text from Big Red. 

_ Dude! Some of the lacrosse players are throwing a party at Westside Hall tonight. You gotta come through. People were asking where you were last time.  _

He brightens. He’d been so busy with RA work. Even now, his feet feel like they’re barely on the ground. He’d forgotten that he never actually made it to a party. But he just successfully completed his first week of junior year  _ and  _ his first room inspections. That deserves a celebration, right?

_ I’ll be there _ , he replies.

He quickly showers and sets about taming his curls with a comb when his phone buzzes again. Ashlyn has texted the RA group chat.  _ Who wants to get dinner in the dining hall with me and Seb? You won’t believe what we found during room inspections today _ .

Ricky hesitates. He is hungry, and lacrosse parties are notorious for being heavy on cheap beer, light on snacks. And besides that, his curiosity is piqued as to what Ashlyn and Seb found on their room inspections. But people have been asking for him according to Big Red, and who knows when he’ll be free to go out again? He taps out a quick reply.  _ Can’t make it tonight. Sorry. Got a music theory quiz to study for.  _

Seb’s reply comes quickly.  _ Already? The semester just started! _

He winces. He’d forgotten it was still so early into the semester.  _ Yeah _ , he lies.  _ Professor’s a real hardass. Have fun! _

It feels wrong lying to his coworkers, but he also knows that none of them would approve if he told them he was going to a party. Especially an on-campus party. All the warnings from training - the admonishments not to break the code of conduct for fear of being fired - swirl in his mind. The others don’t need to know where he’s going. He pulls on a gray pair of jeans, throws on a black t-shirt, laces up his Vans, and slips out the door, hoping that nobody will spot him when he walks past the desk.

* * *

“Okay, so what happened on room checks?” Nini asks once everyone has gathered at the table. She leaves the mound of broccoli on her plate untouched and turns her undivided attention to Ashlyn and Seb.

“Wait, let me guess,” EJ cuts his cousin off before she can even open her mouth. “You walked in on an orgy.” 

Ashlyn makes a face and turns to Seb with a knowing smile. “I almost wish it had been that.” 

Seb makes a face. “I don’t,” he declares. 

“Spit it out!” Gina urges, sipping from her glass of water with barely-contained excitement. 

“We found a rat,” Ashlyn says. 

“Ew!” Nini exclaims, shuddering. 

“Exactly what I said,” the redhead agrees. “Seb thought it was  _ cute _ .” 

“Ew!” Nini repeats. 

“Hold up,” the blond boy interrupts, putting up a hand. “It wasn’t just some rat off the street. It was a pet rat in a cage.” 

Nini grimaces. “Because that makes it so much better?” 

“That’s wild,” EJ laughs. “I’ve seen some pretty crazy stuff in people’s rooms before but never a rat.” 

“What if it’s someone’s emotional support rat?” Gina suggests, cutting a glance around the table. 

Ashlyn throws up her hands. “If it is, they didn’t submit the documentation for it, so as far as I’m concerned, it has to go.” 

Nini shakes her head in amazement as she slips a broccoli floret into her mouth. She joked all last year that her residents could be animals, but this is the first time an  _ actual  _ animal has shown up in a room.

* * *

Ricky is taken aback by the swarm of people crowding the lobby of Westside Hall. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. It’s the first Friday of the semester, and Westside already has a reputation as a party dorm anyway. The benefit of so many people trying to check in guests at once is that the front desk is overwhelmed, and he is easily able to slip past into the stairwell. He makes his way up to the fifth floor. Music blasts all the way down the hall, and the ground pulses with each beat. It’s a wonder they haven’t been shut down already. He glances surreptitiously over his shoulder to ascertain no one is watching, then makes his way down the hall. The door to room 516 is propped open, and he lets himself inside. 

Westside rooms are suite-style, with two large adjoining rooms separated by a bathroom. It’s the ideal party setup: self-contained, a bathroom in case anyone throws up, and plenty of overflow space. The lights are off when Ricky enters. The space is lit up instead by a ring of LED lights on the windows that flash red, blue, and green, changing color in time to the music. There are people in every corner of the room - at least twenty by his count - and he’s certain that there are at least that many in the other room, too. The top of one of the dressers has been cleared off and turned into a makeshift bar, with red cups and unopened cans of beer and a few cheap bottles of liquor lining the surface. He spots Big Red on the far side of the room, talking with two guys he vaguely recognizes. His best friend lights up when he sees him. 

“Dude, you made it!” Red declares, rushing over and throwing an arm around him. His voice is barely audible above the music. 

“Yeah,” Ricky says, straining to be heard. 

“What?” 

“I said yeah!” 

“Yeah, what?” Red looks at him quizzically. 

Ricky leans close to the other boy’s ear. “Never mind!” 

He follows his best friend deeper into the room. He recognizes a few faces, but he can only name a few names. Kevin, who he once split an Uber with when they were both drunk at one of the frat houses off-campus. Cass, who he hooked up with twice freshman year before she met her boyfriend. He gives her a wide berth. Leo, who he once made out with in a bathroom. Janae, who’s been in almost all of his general education classes. Jackson and Ethan - the hosts - who greet him enthusiastically when they spot him. A few of the other lacrosse players. Steffy and Rico are there, too. They acknowledge him with a slight tip of their heads. The other guests are strangers. 

“Thirsty?” a brunette asks, a secretive smirk spreading across her dark-tinged lips. He remembers her from a few parties last year, but her name escapes him. Monica? Veronica? He feels bad for not remembering. She hands him a cup, her fingers brushing his when he accepts it. She leans in closer, as if trying to make sure he can hear her over the music, but he has a feeling she doesn’t need to be  _ this  _ close to his ear. “Glad you finally made it out, Ricky,” she says, her voice silky. “Free from the res life prison for the night?” 

He forces a laugh and glances at the door, as if Nini and EJ and Gina might burst through it at any moment and start reprimanding him like it’s a live simulation. “Yeah,” he says lightly.  _ God, what’s her name? _

“That’s good,” she says. “Because I seem to recall you promising to show me your room once you moved in.” 

“Did I?” he asks. She gives him a small nod. He doesn’t remember any such promise, but he can’t rule it out either. Sophomore year Ricky said a lot of things, especially when he wasn’t sober, and especially to pretty girls. He also isn’t sure what’s wrong with him. He would have jumped at the chance to take Monica/Veronica back to his room last year, but the idea of walking into East Hall with her on his arm now seems daunting. What will his coworkers think? “Yeah, um, we should do that sometime.” 

“I’m free tonight,” she says simply. 

“Oh! I don’t know…” 

“What’s the matter?” Monica/Veronica asks with a playful grin. “You got another girl back in your room already?” 

“What?” Ricky shakes his head so quickly he feels lightheaded. “No! I just…” 

“I’m teasing,” the girl says easily, starting past him. She brushes against his arm, then leans in again. “But whenever you’re free, you let me know.” 

He watches her saunter away and kicks himself. At any other time, he would have jumped at the chance to take her back to his room. She’s attractive, a smooth-talker, and clearly interested. But he would have to check her in at the front desk. Any of his coworkers might see and immediately know that RA Ricky was hooking up with a girl he met at a party. Up until now, he hadn’t considered it when they warned him it would be difficult to live and work in the same place.

He perches against the windowsill and sips his drink - more soda than vodka. His eyes are glued to the door, and his heart skips a beat every time the door opens to reveal yet another guest, or he thinks he hears someone knocking. The room starts to feel uncomfortably warm. There are so many people. Some dancing, some laughing, most of them just standing around and pretending to have conversations over the thumping bass. He tugs at the collar of his shirt to fan himself and crosses to the dresser to top off his drink, wondering if he might have been better off going to dinner with the others. 

* * *

Nini stands in the lobby, her phone in one hand as she tracks the delivery driver’s progress in the app. 

“Waiting for someone?” Seb asks, passing by on his way to start rounds. He sizes her up, noting her oversized t-shirt and loose-fitting pajama pants.

“Just the Postmates guy with my shake,” she smiles. The main door opens, revealing a harried-looking young man clutching a cardboard carrier. “And I think I found him.” 

“Enjoy!” the blond says cheerfully. 

She accepts the drink, thanks the driver, and inspects the cup. The milkshake is a radioactive shade of green, and when she lifts the lid, all she can smell is the overpowering scent of mint. She wrinkles her nose.  _ How is this Ricky’s favorite flavor?  _ She begins to rethink her choice. Maybe being adventurous was the wrong call tonight. It’s not too late to order a vanilla shake instead. But then again, she already paid for this one… 

The door opens again, and she glances up instinctively, expecting another resident or a guest waiting to be checked in. Instead, she finds herself looking at her co. Ricky looks dazed, his eyes glazed and unfocused. His face is slightly flushed, his cheeks rosy, and his curls are matted with sweat. For a moment, he seems to look past her, his mouth slightly agape. Her heart skips a beat. There’s something almost endearing about how lost he looks. But then reality hits her. He’s supposed to be studying for a music theory quiz. That’s why he didn’t make it to dinner. Except here he is, clearly buzzed. 

“Ricky?” she questions. 

His gaze snaps to her and she can hear the sharp intake of his breath. “I, uh…” 

She closes the distance between them in quick, indignant strides, and he seems to shrink away as she approaches. “Where were you?” she demands, lowering her voice to a soft murmur. 

“I -” 

“I thought you had a quiz to study for,” she cuts him off. 

“I did,” he protests weakly. “I just...stepped out for a minute.”

Her hands fall to her hips and she fixes him with a look.  _ Seriously?  _ How stupid does he think she is? “You stepped out for a minute and just happened to find yourself at a party?”

He deflates like a balloon. “I swear I didn’t stay long,” he says, as if that makes up for lying to all of them and blowing them off. 

“Who cares how long you stayed?” she says, glancing around to make sure no one is listening. “If Ben or Jenn finds out that you came back to the building drunk, you could get fired!” 

“I’m not drunk,” he insists. 

“Really? That’s what you’re concerned about?” 

He smiles feebly. “It was a joke,” he offers lamely. 

“Well it wasn’t funny.” She starts to move past him brusquely, but he surprises her by reaching out and catching her arm lightly. She wheels around to face him. His eyes are wide, almost panicked. 

“You’re not gonna tell them, are you?” 

She tenses. She should. She should email both of their supervisors right now and let them know what they’re newest RA has been up to. Maybe even snap a picture and send it as an attachment. But just as quickly as the anger seizes her, it fades, and she relaxes. She can’t get him fired. Not even he deserves that. “I won’t say anything,” she relents. “But make no mistake, Ricky. What you did wasn’t okay.” 

Ricky watches Nini’s retreating back and feels himself shrinking with each step she takes. He gets the feeling that the party isn’t what she’s mad about.

Nini takes one sip of the milkshake when she returns to her room and immediately spits it out into the sink. She reaches for her water bottle and takes a long swig to wash the taste out of her mouth. Just as well. Running into Ricky in the lobby sort of killed her desire for a milkshake anyway. She slinks over to her bed and sits down on top of it, fishing in the pocket of her pajama pants for her phone. She fires off a text to Kourtney. 

_ Ricky’s an asshole.  _

Her reply comes seconds later.  _ What’d that boy do now?  _

Nini hesitates. She promised she wouldn’t say anything to their bosses, and she doesn’t entirely trust her best friend not to do something drastic. Kourtney is big-hearted, but she is also fierce, protective, and persistent when she’s on a warpath. Besides, Ricky going to a party isn’t the issue. She’s come to accept that her co is who he is by now. But he didn’t have to lie to all of them about it. He could’ve just said he didn’t want to hang out with them. 

_ Nothing. It’s stupid _ , she writes back.

Her phone buzzes again, but she doesn’t have time to read Kourtney’s message before someone knocks on her door. At first, it’s so light that she thinks she might have imagined it, but the rapping starts again, more persistent than before. She rises from the bed and pads to the door, peering through the peephole. Ricky stands on the other side, practically slumped against it. He wets his lips nervously and knocks again. 

“Nini?” he says, as loudly as he dares. “Hey, can we talk?” 

She sighs heavily. She could easily pretend to be asleep and leave him in the hallway, scratching at her door like some lost puppy. But it’s exactly that image that leads her to open the door. He looks sad and sort of pathetic, and she feels a pang of pity for him despite herself. She pulls the door open forcefully, and the boy nearly collapses into her. “What?” she says. 

Ricky looks over his shoulder, then turns to face her again. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says. “Like, really sorry. I know I messed up. I just… I didn’t want you all to judge me if I said I was going out.” 

“So your solution was to lie to us instead?” 

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The redness is starting to fade from his complexion, but the tips of his ears glow red. He scrutinizes a spot on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. It was a fucked up thing to do, and I know you probably won’t believe me, but I swear I won’t do it again.” He brings his gaze up to meet hers, and she notices for the first time that his eyes are a lighter shade of brown than she’d thought. Or maybe it’s just the glassiness. “For what it’s worth,” he adds after a beat, “I kinda wish I’d gone to dinner with you guys instead.” 

She smiles softly despite herself. “Obviously,” she deadpans. “We’re  _ way  _ cooler than whoever you were partying with.” 

He returns her grin. “Way cooler,” he agrees. His face wavers, then he finally asks, “So...are we good?” His voice is impossibly small, his guilty expression almost boyish, and she suddenly understands just how Ricky Bowen managed to talk himself out of trouble so many times. He’s got the puppy dog face down. 

Nini releases a slow hiss of breath through her nostrils. “We’re good,” she says finally, and despite every fiber of her being protesting her words, she means it. “But,” she jabs a finger in his direction, “don’t you  _ ever  _ lie to me again. I’m serious, Ricky. I don’t really do second chances.” 

He throws his hands up in surrender. “I promise,” he swears. 

“Good,” she nods, satisfied. 

Ricky lingers in the doorway a moment longer. When she doesn’t say anything more, he sucks in a deep breath and jerks his head in the direction of his wing. “I’m gonna… You know, go sober up and all,” he says with a nervous chuckle. 

“Wait,” she says. He freezes. She crosses to the sink counter and picks up the milkshake cup, still almost completely full. “This might help.” She presses the drink into his hand and wipes the beads of condensation on her pants. 

He looks down at the cup in confusion. “What’s this?” 

“A milkshake,” she elaborates. “Turns out, I still can’t stand mint chocolate chip, but it’s your favorite, so…” 

A genuine, radiant smile spreads across his face. “Thanks,” he says, and she knows he’s not just talking about the shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time! Room checks were simultaneously my favorite and least favorite part of the job. Seriously, some of those rooms were NASTY. I'll never understand people's capacity to live in their own filth. What I observed in my time as an RA is that girls tend to be messier: their rooms were the ones with laundry piled all over and books strewn about. But boys tend to be grosser. Their rooms were most often the ones with nasty smells and sticky floors and way too much dust. Obviously there were exceptions to that generalization, but it was a trend I noticed. 
> 
> As far as all the crazy things we found on room checks, where do I begin? There were the obvious ones: freshmen leaving liquor bottles on display (we had to confiscate them and pour them down the drain when that happened), toaster ovens (which weren't allowed because fire hazard), even a beanbag chair that they tried to hide under the bed (also not allowed because in a fire, all the little beads inside can actually become heated and explode). Then there were the crazier things. We found bullet casings in a room once. That was scary. We also found fireworks in one. I accidentally walked in on plenty of naked people in bed with a partner. One resident once answered the door naked. Another resident very proudly showed me and my best friend their extensive collection of toys for self-pleasure, which was the definition of TMI.
> 
> And of course there were the animals. On my first ever room checks, my partner and I found two pet rats living in someone's room. They were caged when we found them, but apparently this person routinely let the critters out to wander. I'll never forget my partner's scream when she found them. They weren't a big deal for me, but she was grossed out. Later on that same day, on the same floor, we also found a pet turtle being kept in a fish tank. The resident thought they were being clever by covering the tank with a towel, but we could see the turtle through the gaps. There were a few dogs and cats in the building that were service or emotional support animals, but the rats and the turtle weren't on the list. I can only imagine what that phone call home was like. 
> 
> So that concludes this chapter! Ricky and Nini are starting to warm to each other, and despite some of the setbacks and anger in this chapter, I feel like they're beginning to warm to each other (albeit reluctantly). What are your thoughts?
> 
> PS - If we got caught at a party on-campus, we were likely to be fired, so that part is true. We also risked termination if we showed up in the building intoxicated, since it "set a bad example" for residents. Just one more hazard of living where you work!


	8. Sticky Situations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! It's been a minute! (Or several). I'm sorry for how long this took to get out. Long story short, a LOT has happened these past 2 weeks. We adopted another cat! He's a little old man with some health issues, but he likes to cuddle and be held, and we love him so much. I also started a second job that takes up some more of my free time. And, on top of all of that, my school is set to reopen in-person soon, so I've been planning for that. It's been crazy. 
> 
> That said, I've been plugging away at this story. It relaxes me. Thank you for all the amazing, positive comments you've left me, and to those of you who checked in to make sure I was okay. I hope once I adjust to these new schedule changes, I'll be able to pump out updates more regularly again.

“So what gives, dude?” Big Red asks the moment he drops into the armchair. They’re supposed to be doing homework, but that plan went out the window the moment the redhead showed up at Ricky’s door without his backpack, books, or laptop. 

Ricky swivels his desk chair around to face his best friend. “What do you mean?” 

“The other night at the party. You spent, like, a whole month last semester trying to get with Vanessa, and when she’s  _ finally  _ feeling you, you chicken out? What’s that about?” 

_ Vanessa. That was her name.  _ Ricky shrugs. In truth, he’s not entirely sure himself. The more he tries to make sense of it in his head, the less clear it becomes. Vanessa is everything he typically looks for: attractive, available, and uninterested in a long-term commitment. The fact that she can carry a conversation is a bonus. So why was he so leery about inviting her back to his room? “I just wasn’t feeling it,” he sighs. 

“Whoa. Dude. Are you okay?” Red’s eyes are wide with exaggerated alarm. “Because I swear I just heard Ricky Bowen say he wasn’t feeling it.” 

Ricky chuckles dryly. “You heard right. I don’t know, Red. It was just a lot, you know? The party and all. I’m out of practice.” 

The redhead looks confused. “What’s there to practice? You show up, you have a drink or two, you meet a hot girl or guy, and then talk me up to their cute friend. Seems pretty simple to me.” 

He shakes his head, smirking despite himself. “You ever think maybe there’s more to do than just go to parties?” 

Big Red jumps to his feet, crossing the room to press the back of his hand against Ricky’s forehead. “Okay, we  _ definitely  _ need to get you checked out. Like, stat.” 

Ricky swats his best friend’s hand away. “I’m fine,” he insists. “Just...thinking out loud, that’s all.” 

The other boy shakes his head fondly. “You know I’m just teasing,” he says. “You can do whatever - or whoever - you want. But...there was something else about the way you were acting at the party…” He locks eyes with Ricky and notes his raised eyebrow. “I dunno. You just seemed different. On edge. You kept watching the door the whole night.” 

Ricky’s lips pull back in a half-smile, half-grimace. His hand finds the back of his neck. “I...might’ve been a little nervous,” he admits. “I can’t help it, Red. If I get caught at a party like that, I could get fired.” 

Big Red’s face splits into a broad grin. “I knew it!” he declares triumphantly. 

“Knew what?” Ricky searches his friend’s face. 

“You! This! Dude, you are  _ such  _ an RA!” 

It isn’t the first time Red has leveled this accusation at him, but he’s never quite been able to figure out what he means by it. All he can muster is a defensive, “Am not!” 

The redhead throws his hands up. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” he says. “Kinda the opposite, actually. I’m proud of you, Ricky.” 

“Thanks,” the boy mumbles, dipping his head shyly. 

“Is that why you didn’t wanna hook up with Vanessa?” 

“Sort of,” he admits. “I didn’t want to have to bring her back to the building and have everybody judge me.” 

“Who’s gonna judge you?” 

“I dunno,” Ricky shrugs. “Nini?” 

“I knew it,” Red repeats, quieter this time. 

“Knew what?” Ricky perks up. 

Big Red shakes his head. “Nothing. You’re just being classic Ricky,” he says, as if that makes anything more clear. “You’re scared to do anything to make Nini disapprove of you any more than she already does.” 

“No, I’m not!” Ricky’s voice rises several notches, an indignant scowl on his face. “Pretty sure she’s already hit peak disapproval anyway. I don’t care what she thinks about me.” 

“Yeah, you do. You need everyone to like you, and you can’t stand the fact that Nini might not.” 

“There’s no  _ might _ about it,” Ricky grouses. “She hates my guts.” 

He can’t stop thinking about it, though, even after Big Red lets the subject drop and returns to the armchair. He wants to tell his best friend about what happened after the party: bumping into Nini, the way she ripped into him for lying about studying. What had compelled him to follow her up to her room and scratch at her door, begging for forgiveness like a desperate ex? And what was the milkshake she’d given him supposed to mean? He considers asking, but he’s not sure he can handle anymore insights from the redhead today. Especially when he has a way of getting right to the truth of things.

* * *

“How about this one?” Nini asks, passing over a glossy photograph of her best friend in a bright yellow dress and matching head wrap. They sit cross-legged on the floor of Kourtney’s dorm, dozens of pictures from every photoshoot her best friend has ever done fanned out around them. 

Kourtney inspects the picture and wrinkles her nose. “Neens, I can’t include this in my lookbook.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because! I look like a lemon gumdrop. They don’t want lemon gumdrops!” She sets the photo down on the pile of rejected images. 

“Kourt, I think you’re being a little  _ too  _ critical,” she says, picking it up again. 

“I have to be. Do you know how many people are in line for this internship? This is my one chance to wow them.” 

Nini leans back on her hands, unwinding her legs and stretching them out in front of her. They’ve been at it for hours, and Kourtney’s lookbook is looking more and more like a postcard. They barely managed to settle on three photos, with another four in the “maybe” pile, and they’re quickly running out of material to consider. She tries to remind herself that Kourtney has always been this way. An absolute perfectionist. Quick to praise everyone around her while simultaneously being much too hard on herself. When she sees how few photos actually made the cut, she’ll reconsider and add in a few more. She places the photograph of her best friend in the yellow dress in the “maybe” pile and picks up the next. 

“I don’t know why you’re freaking out,” she says, her tone only half-joking. “You’re literally the most stylish person I know. Who won best-dressed in the senior superlatives?” 

Kourtney holds up a hand to cut her off. “Look, Neens, I appreciate it you trying to hype me up, but that was high school. In Denver. This is a fashion house in  _ New York _ . The bar is way higher. Do you know of many girls that look like me getting gigs like this?” 

Nini creases her brow. Kourtney has a point. As fashionable, outgoing, and dedicated as her best friend is, there’s no getting around the fact that the fashion industry has a tendency towards favoring thin, white women over curvy, Black women. Even with an ever-increasing emphasis on diversity, she’ll be up against tall odds. 

“Exactly,” Kourtney says, taking her silence for an answer. “I gotta bring my A game if I want even half a shot.”

“Well this photo definitely says A game,” Nini replies, sliding over a picture of her best friend in a bold, brightly colored suit and sequined sunglasses. 

Kourtney takes the photo, looks it over, and reluctantly adds it to the pile of pictures to include. “So what’s going on with you and Ricky?” she asks, changing the subject.

Nini looks up, startled. She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?” 

Kourtney ignores the look and intently studies two shots of herself in a frilled fuschia dress. “You texted me the other night saying he was an asshole, then completely ghosted me. And you haven’t brought it up since. So what gives?”

She sighs. She’d mostly forgotten about her co coming back to the building slightly intoxicated after lying to all of them about studying. She barely even remembers why she was mad. All that remains is the memory of Ricky, eyes bleary and unfocused but full of sincerity and remorse, showing up at her door to plead for her forgiveness, and the way his smile lit up his face when she handed him her milkshake as a peace offering. Maybe it was because he was buzzed, or because she was tired, but she wishes Ricky could always be this earnest, uncomplicated, almost boyish. 

Her eyes fall on Kourtney, who has abandoned all pretense of poring over photographs and has turned a knowing gaze on her instead. “It was nothing,” she says emphatically shaking her head and trying to sound convincing. “He just...pissed me for a minute. But it’s alright. He came and apologized.” 

“Whoa. Back up,” Kourtney blinks. “He  _ apologized _ ?” 

Nini nods mutely. 

“Like, he said ‘I’m sorry’ and everything?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Guess the boy is learning a thing or two after all.” 

Nini shrugs, a small smile cracking across her face. Maybe Kourtney is right. For all his devil-may-care attitude, her co has slowly been rising to the occasion. “I think he might be turning over a new leaf.” 

“I don’t think he’s the only one,” Kourtney murmurs. She refuses to elaborate further when Nini asks what she means by that. 

* * *

FROM: Jennifer Jenn <jennj@monroestate.edu>   
TO: Richard Bowen <bowenr5@monroestate.edu>, Ashlyn Caswell <caswella1@monroestate.edu>, Eric Caswell <caswelle3@monroestate.edu>, Sebastian Matthew-Smith <matthew-smiths1@monroestate.edu>, Gina Porter <porterg9@monroestate.edu>, Nina Salazar-Roberts <salazar-robertsn1@monroestate.edu>   
CC: Benjamin Mazzara <mazzarab@monroestate.edu>   
DATE: September 12, 9:09 AM   
SUBJECT: East Hall Back-To-School Luau Event

Good morning fabulous East Hall RAs!

Just a reminder that we will be holding the annual East Hall Back-to-School Luau Event tonight in the downstairs lounge from 8 PM to 10 PM! This is an all-hands-on-deck event! Please show up on-time in your brightest Hawaiian shirts. Can’t wait to see you there!

Warm Regards,

Jenn

PS: EJ, please share the playlist with me ahead of time. I trust your judgment, but we don’t want a repeat of last year’s Act Up incident…

\--

Jennifer J. Jenn, M.A., M.Ed.   
East Hall Residence Director   
Monroe State University

“Everyone deserves the chance to fly!” - Wicked   
“We’re all in this together.” - High School Musical   
Trust the process.” - Me

* * *

The first floor lounge is already busy, despite it being a full fifteen minutes before the advertised start time on the flyers. Residents mill about, talking in small groups. Every so often, uproarious laughter fills the air. Music pumps from a large speaker hooked up to a laptop. Nini can’t make out the song over the heavy thump of the bass, though she suspects she wouldn’t have recognized it anyway. 

“Who was in charge of picking the music?” Kourtney grumbles as they saunter toward the community kitchen. She’d refused to wear a Hawaiian shirt no matter how many times Nini pleaded, and she’d eventually settled for her best friend wearing a floral print jumper instead. At least it was sort of in the spirit of a luau. 

“EJ always puts the playlists together. Why?” 

“No reason,” Kourtney says, wrinkling her nose. 

“Nini, so glad you could make it,” Jenn smiles frantically, practically tugging the RA into the kitchen. “I’ve got EJ and Gina running the limbo station. Ash is setting up decorations. Would you mind helping Seb with the snacks?” 

“Uh, sure…” 

“Perfect! You’re the best!” Jenn drapes a plastic, dollar-store lei around her neck and nudges her gently toward the snack station.

Nini takes her place at the table beside Seb, whose shirt is plastered in bright pink flamingos. He brandishes a party size bag of chips, ready to replenish the bowl the second it runs low. Across the lounge, EJ and Gina hoist up a large wooden rod, laughing and cheering when a resident shimmies under it. Ash finishes blowing up an inflatable palm tree. Her shirt - clearly borrowed from EJ’s extensive collection - practically swallows her up. 

Ricky enters the lounge just before 8. Unlike everyone else, he isn’t dressed for the occasion, opting instead for a red-and-white baseball tee that isn’t even remotely festive. He glances around the room, then shoves his hands into his pockets as he tries to figure out where to go or what to do. Jenn intercepts him, hauling him into the kitchen and promptly decking him out with several leis, no doubt an attempt to cover up his lack of spirit. 

“Ricky, sweetie, please tell me you know how to work a blender,” the director says, her smile just a little too wide. 

“Actually, my first job was at a yogurt place. So, yeah, I do.”

“Great!” Jenn claps her hands together and lets out a sigh of relief. “I need you to run the smoothie station. All the ingredients are in the cooler under the table. Feel free to experiment with flavors.” 

“Yeah, I guess I can do that,” the boy replies. He wanders through the lounge like a lost puppy, dodging residents with plates piled high with food. It occurs to Nini that this is probably the most time he’s ever spent hanging out here. He makes his way to the smoothie station, which consists of little more than a folding table, an old blender, and an assortment of yogurts and frozen fruits in a hard-sided cooler next to the snacks. He offers Nini and Seb a small smile as he takes his place.

“Where’s your Hawaiian shirt?” Nini asks, trying to force a note of humor into her voice. She can’t help herself. He’s the only member of staff who didn’t dress for the occasion. Even Ben is wearing a black button-down decorated with pineapples, and she knows for a fact that EJ would’ve gladly lent him an extra shirt if he’d asked. As ridiculous as the attire might be, part of the appeal is that they’re united as a staff. Besides, the shirts lend an extra air of fun to the event.  _ Who’s the buzzkill now? _

“I don’t own any Hawaiian shirts,” Ricky says simply, plugging the blender into the outlet behind him. “They’re kinda dumb.” 

Nini’s frown deepens. “They’re not dumb,” she says. “It’s part of the theme.” 

“I’ve got leis, don’t I?” Ricky says, rifling through the cooler and setting a bag of frozen strawberries on the table. 

“Only because Jenn gave them to you,” Nini points out, fighting to keep her voice from rising. 

“Okay,” Seb intervenes with a nervous chuckle. “You know what I could go for? A smoothie.” 

Ricky smiles charmingly. “Coming right up.” He scoops strawberries into the blender and adds yogurt and ice. 

“Aren’t you supposed to measure how much you’re putting in?” Nini questions gently. 

Her co scoffs. “You don’t measure smoothies, Nini. It’s a work of art. You go by feeling.” 

“Well I’m  _ feeling  _ like that’s a lot of strawberries, and you might run out before…” 

“Do you trust me?” Ricky asks, cutting her off. When she doesn’t respond, he gives a barely perceptible nod, jams the cover onto the blender, and begins pulsing the ingredients until they are smooth. He pours the contents into two cups and presses one into each of his coworkers’ hands. 

Nini sniffs at the drink. 

“Relax,” he teases. “I didn’t add any extra ingredients. You watched me make it. Besides, I would never poison Seb.” 

The blond raises his plastic cup in a silent toast and sips. “Ricky! This is really good!” he declares enthusiastically. 

Nini raises the cup tentatively to her lips and takes a small sip. The sweetness of strawberry washes over her tongue, and the chill spreads pleasantly through her mouth. “Alright, I’ll admit it,” she says, taking another sip and smiling at her co over the rim of her cup, “it’s pretty good. Maybe you should take a job at the juice bar in the rec center.” 

“Nice try,” Ricky replies, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays his pride. “But you can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

“Damn,” she deadpans. 

Ricky cups his hands to his mouth and raises his voice over the music. “Alright, everybody! Smoothie bar is open! Come get your drinks!” 

He quickly falls into his element, and before long, he begins showboating for the students that gather around the smoothie table. He juggles the bananas and twirls the measuring cup around in his hand as he scoops ingredients into the blender. He tries every possible combination of fruit: strawberries and bananas, mangoes and pineapple, blueberries and raspberries, and one mud-brown concoction containing every ingredient he has on-hand. He pours with flourish, spinning the cups as he slides them across the table to the waiting residents, the beverages sloshing dangerously close to the rim each time, though they never splash over the side. 

“Maybe you should slow down,” Nini murmurs, just loud enough that he can hear her. 

Ricky’s grin is lopsided. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle my style?” 

Nini rolls her eyes, but her expression is devoid of its usual irritation. “No,” she says patiently, “I would just hate to see you make a mess. Or launch a banana into someone’s eye.” 

“Trust me, Nini,” he says. “I’m a consummate professional.” With that, he pops the cover back on the blender and cranks the motor up to full speed. 

The smoothie inside bubbles. There’s a loud  _ pop _ as the unsecured lid flies off the pitcher. The blender continues to whirr as smoothie rains down on the boy. Seb and Nini duck, narrowly avoiding the splash zone as startled students dodge out of the way. Ricky takes the full brunt of the explosion, and when Nini hazards a glance up, all she can see is her co dripping in frozen beverage. 

Ricky blinks, his hands frozen in midair, having failed to shield himself from the rogue concoction. The lounge is silent for a moment. Even the music seems to take a breath as the song changes from one to the next. Then, just as suddenly as the smoothie exploded, everyone bursts into laughter. Even Ben is unable to hide an amused smirk, and he feigns a cough until the expression fades. Nini can’t help but join in, the laughter overtaking her as Ricky glares indignantly, his brown eyes shining under a sheen of pink yogurt. He seems to wilt where he stands, slowly lowering his hands to his side as the laughter continues. 

Big Red emerges from the crowd, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he grabs a few paper towels off the table and passes them to his best friend. 

“C’mon, dude,” she hears the boy say. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

As the laughter begins to subside, the redheaded boy hurriedly ushers his friend from the room, nudging him in the direction of his hall. Nini watches, her sides aching from the laughter that still bubbles up periodically within her. 

* * *

“Well that sucked,” Ricky says flatly as he unlocks his door. Big Red practically shoves him inside. 

“It wasn’t all bad,” his best friend replies. He inspects the bit of smoothie that clings to his finger and then sucks it off.

“How was it not all bad?” Ricky groans, peeling off his shirt. The frozen, sticky material clings to his body, raising goosebumps in its wake as he tugs the garment over his head and tosses it in a heap onto the floor.

“Well, for starters, the smoothie tasted good.” 

Ricky grumbles as he throws open the bathroom door and starts the shower. “They were all laughing at me, Red.” 

“Maybe they were laughing with you.” 

“I wasn’t laughing,” he retorts flatly. 

“Okay, so maybe it was a little embarrassing,” the redhead allows. “And maybe they were laughing at you. But I thought you liked being the center of attention?” 

“Not like this,” the brown-haired boy grits out, testing the water temperature.  _ Not hot enough _ . Something tells him he’ll need the water to be scalding in order to wash off the unpleasant cold and stickiness. 

“I’m sure they’ll forget all about it by tomorrow,” Big Red reassures him. “Just worry about getting yourself cleaned up for now. Do you need me to stay, or…?” 

“No,” Ricky murmurs. “I got it from here.” 

“Okay, good,” Red smiles. “Because I kinda left my food down there.” He starts for the door. 

“Thanks for having my back,” Ricky calls after him as he pulls the bathroom door shut and begins removing the rest of his smoothie-laden clothes. 

His best friend’s voice cuts over the running water and the weakly circulating bathroom fan. “Of course, dude. I’ve always got your back.” 

* * *

Nini pauses outside of Ricky’s door. It’s shockingly bare for an RA’s room. The only door tag is his own, crudely cut from construction paper and tacked on with scotch tape. She makes a note to warn him that the tape will rip the paint off the door when he tries to take it down. She listens for a moment, waiting for some sign that her co is inside, but the room is silent. She fires off a quick text to Gina.  _ Meet you for rounds in a few. Gonna check on Ricky first. _

With a sharp intake of breath, she raps lightly against the door. “Ricky?” 

A sound of shuffling comes from within, then the door cracks open a sliver and she can see the boy’s deep brown eyes peering out at her warily. The last time she’d seen them, they’d been hidden beneath drops of smoothie tangled in his eyelashes. “If you came to drag me back down there, I’m not going. I don’t care if Ben and Jenn fire me.” 

“I’m not here to drag you back downstairs,” she assures him. “The event’s over anyway.” 

“Oh.” She isn’t sure if it’s disappointment, disinterest, or forced casualness in his tone. 

“Actually,” Nini says, drawing in another breath, “I’m here to apologize.” 

“Oh.” Ricky’s eyes widen in surprise, and the gap in the doorway widens ever-so-slightly. “Why?” 

“I shouldn’t have laughed at you back there,” she admits. “You were embarrassed, and I didn’t need to add to that. So I’m sorry.” She rocks on her heels, then adds, “Even if it was a little funny.” 

Ricky is silent for a moment, and she wonders if her apology might not be enough. She’d laughed at his humiliation, after all. She can’t blame him for being reluctant to forgive. But his features soften just as quickly, and a slight smile tugs at his lips. “Okay, fine. Maybe it  _ was  _ a little bit funny,” he concedes. He opens the door fully, leaning against it to stop it from shutting.

Nini mirrors his smile, her eyes traveling up to his hair, still shower-damp and matted to his scalp in a few places. She spots a light pink streak tangled among the brown curls. “Oh,” she says, giggling. “You’ve got a little…” 

Ricky’s eyes widen. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little smoothie.” She places her hand on the side of her head, indicating where the errant bit of yogurt still clings to him. He runs his hand through his hair and misses. “No, a little more to your right…” He tries again, his fingers passing within millimeters.

“Here, let me.” Before she can think better of it, she reaches out and tangles her fingers in his curls. She is surprised by how soft his hair is. He tenses under her touch, but quickly relaxes. Heat rises from the base of her neck to the tips of her ears, causing them to blush bright red. Something - a knot, a tightness, a fluttering - starts in the pit of her stomach. She fights the urge to pull her hand away like she’s been burned, withdrawing it with deliberate slowness instead. She holds up her index finger to show him the drops of smoothie. “Got it.” Her voice sounds choked and foreign to her own ears, and she clears her throat to rid herself of the tightness that has gathered there. 

Ricky’s eyes are wide, his mouth half-open. For a moment, she isn’t sure he heard her. He blinks, and his eyes focus in on her finger. “Thanks,” he says quietly. 

“You know, maybe this was karma,” she says, a gentle note of teasing in her voice. 

“Huh?” He looks at her with confusion. 

“For saying Hawaiian shirts are stupid and not dressing to the theme. Maybe next time, you’ll learn your lesson,” she chides, eyes twinkling.

His smile matches hers. “Don’t count on it.”

The air feels charged, as if Nini could plug into it and power the building. She shifts from one foot to the other as Ricky drops his gaze to the floor, nudging the threshold between his door and the carpeted hallway with his toe. “I, uh,” Nini begins, just as Ricky starts to say, “So.” 

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “You first.” 

“No, it’s okay,” she replies, shaking her head to clear the odd feeling that settles over her. “I was just gonna say I need to meet Gina for rounds.” 

The same strange expression passes over Ricky’s features, and she wishes she knew if it was disappointment or something else. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “You should probably…” he trails off. “Thanks, by the way. For the apology. And for getting the smoothie out of my hair.”

The corner of her mouth tweaks upward in a smile. “Don’t mention it.”  _ No, seriously.  _ Please  _ don’t mention it. _

* * *

Gina is already at the front desk when Nini arrives. “How’s Ricky?” she asks brightly. 

“Oh, you know,” she replies vaguely. “His ego’s bruised, but the rest of him will be alright.” She considers relaying what happened to Gina - the smoothie streaked in Ricky’s hair, the way she passed her hand through it to wipe it away - but thinks better of it. It truly meant nothing - just a friendly gesture so that he wouldn’t embarrass himself any further. But something tells her that her coworker won’t see it that way.

“It was good of you to apologize,” the younger girl says.

“Yeah, well, he’s my co. I kinda owed it to him.” She tries to tamp down the uncomfortable knowledge that a week ago, she probably wouldn’t have felt the same way. She wouldn’t have apologized at all. In fact, she might have reveled a little in her cocky partner’s misfortune. 

They make their way up the top floor of the building, duty phones in hand. A few residents move past them in the hallway, still wearing their leis from the luau event. Nini winces when she hears one girl mention Ricky’s smoothie incident, setting the entire group laughing again. 

Gina observes her partner’s expression and offers her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. They’ll forget all about it soon enough.” 

“I know. I just feel bad,” Nini says ruefully. 

They settle into a comfortable silence as they sweep the top floor, their muffled footsteps on the carpet and the sound of the building’s HVAC system the only sounds. Nini is the first to break the silence. “So it’s been a couple weeks. What do you think?” 

“Of the job?” 

She nods. 

Gina smiles and shrugs modestly as she pulls open the stairwell door and waves the older girl through. “Honestly? Sometimes, I forget I’m new. It feels almost...natural.” 

“That’s good!” Nini exclaims. “It took me, like, a month before I finally felt like I knew what I was doing.” 

“I had a good teacher,” Gina says, nudging her. 

The round passes without incident, and they soon find themselves back in the lobby at the front desk. “I’m gonna head back up to my room,” Gina says. “I have to read for my criminal justice class before tomorrow or the professor is going to kill me.” 

“At least she’ll know how to get away with it,” Nini quips.

“If only,” the younger girl sighs. “Something tells me the only victim is going to be my GPA. Anyway, if you need anything, call me.” 

“Same,” Nini says, starting toward her own wing. 

She stops as the front door opens and a blonde girl in a short, white dress stumbles inside. Nini takes in her flushed face and the unfocused glassiness in her blue eyes and deduces that her six-inch heels aren’t the reason she’s having trouble walking. She locks eyes with Gina, who nods and starts toward the girl.

“Hey,” Gina says as they both approach. “Are you -” She stops short as the girl practically collapses into a sitting position on the ground, legs spread out in a v-shape. She heaves a sigh. 

Nini glances quizzically at her partner, then turns her attention back to the student. “Um, are you okay?” she asks. 

The blonde’s lower lip trembles, and her eyes start to well up. A second later, she releases a loud, unrestrained sob. A pool of liquid forms underneath her.

Both girls jump back. “Oh my god!” Gina cries in disbelief as the puddle begins to trickle along the grout lines in the tile, heading toward her. She gingerly steps aside. “Did she just…?” 

“I think so,” Nini answers tersely, her expression a mixture of alarm and disgust as the girl begins to cry harder. The RA takes out the duty phone and tries to suppress her instinct to gag.  _ She really just peed herself. _

Gina carefully tiptoes over the puddle and places a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Hey, we’re gonna call someone to help you, okay? Do you know where you are?” She does her best to keep her tone gentle and soothing, even as the girl’s cries approach banshee levels of wailing. 

“He dumped me,” the girl slurs, attempting to look up at Gina. She sways unsteadily, her gaze flitting back and forth between several points just over the RA’s shoulder. “He’s an asshole.” 

“Okay,” Gina mumbles, shaking her head. “Listen, we’re gonna get you some help. And maybe some clean clothes.” 

“Huh?” the blonde blinks.

“You just… Nevermind.” 

Ten minutes later, the paramedics help the girl up off the ground. A small group of bystanders has formed, milling about in the lobby and murmuring in hushed, amused whispers. Occasionally, they snicker to one another. One even tries to film the girl as she stumbles, a telltale yellowish spot on her dress.

“For the last time,” Gina snaps at them, “go back to your rooms or we’ll write you up for interfering with an incident.” She steps into the path of the camera, blocking the boy from filming the student as she leaves. 

The boy puts the device back in his pocket, and slowly, the students disperse. Gina stands like a sentinel in the middle of the lobby, hands on her hips and eyes trained on them until they disappear into the elevator. She turns to Nini and rolls her eyes. “Some people.” 

The older RA shrugs with a resigned sigh. “It’s like a trainwreck. You can’t look away.”

“Believe me,” Gina replies. “I’ve seen my fair share of disasters. People get so nosy..”

“On the bright side, the EMTs said she’ll be okay,” Nini informs her. “She’s drunk, but not bad enough that she needs to get her stomach pumped or anything. They’re gonna take her back to her dorm.” 

“At least she doesn’t live here,” Gina muses aloud. “I would be humiliated if that happened to me in front of all my neighbors.” 

“Maybe she won’t remember in the morning,” Nin suggests hopefully. They stand in the lobby until the EMTs and the girl disappear down the front steps. 

“Well, that makes two messy incidents involving liquids tonight,” Gina says with a note of grim humor. 

Nini laughs despite herself. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Ricky’s lucky all he got hit with was a smoothie.” 

“Seriously,” Gina chuckles. “What do we do about that?” she asks, pointing to the puddle. 

Nini makes a face. “We call the custodians and try not to step in it. I think there’s a wet floor sign behind the desk…” 

* * *

FROM: Gina Porter <porterg9@monroestate.edu>   
TO: Benjamin Mazzara <mazzarab@monroestate.edu>, Jennifer Jenn <jennj@monroestate.edu>   
CC: Nina Salazar-Roberts <salazar-robertsn1@monroestate.edu>   
DATE: September 12, 10:05 PM   
SUBJECT: Incident Report

Good evening Ben and Jenn,

Attached, please find the report for an incident that took place tonight in the East Hall lobby. Please be advised that custodians were called to clean up body fluids. EMTs responded and evaluated the student. If you require anything further, please let Nini or me know.

Thank you,

Gina Porter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time! You guessed it. Unbelievably, this incident is a lightly embellished version of one that actually happened in front of me. I'll set the scene. It's my first year on the job. I'm at the front desk with my best friend, who is also in his first year on the job. It's, like, 2 AM. Don't ask me why we're up, much less why we decided to hang out at the desk. But we did. A girl stumbles into the building, immediately falls into a sitting position, and proceeds to pee herself right there in the lobby, then begins sobbing hysterically. 
> 
> Nobody knows how to react. We're all just sort of frozen there, staring in horror as this puddle of pee starts to spread along the floor. I don't remember why she was crying, besides the fact that she was drunk. But the EMTs determined she wasn't drunk enough to warrant medical treatment. She was just having a bad night. So we sent her up to her room. Mind you, I did most of this. My best friend, who is an a-hole, just put the wet floor sign out🙄
> 
> Anyway! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, as well as how Nini and Ricky's dynamic is starting to shift. I can't promise when the next update will be up, but I'll post it as soon as I can!

**Author's Note:**

> Story time! Many of the events in this story will be semi-autobiographical. I myself was an RA for three years at my school, in a building not too dissimilar from the one featured here. Obviously, names and identifying details have been changed, but I promise many of the things that will happen in the story actually happened to me or my coworkers. Planning this out has been a trip down memory lane for me. 
> 
> To start, the balloon tower was an actual thing they made a team of candidates do during our job interview. I think the goal was to see how well we work in a team. My group didn't have the tallest tower, but ours was the most stable. And yes, it was tragically phallic-looking. Other details that are borrowed from my own experiences? Well, I did have my own room, and my building was lucky enough to have private bathrooms in each room, so that's all realistic. So is the supply closet. And "ten minutes early is right on time" was the actual motto of my boss, so that's also true-to-life. As the story progresses, I'll be sharing more of what was inspired by my own experiences. Some of it is unbelievable. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! I'm so excited to embark on this new journey with you all.


End file.
